Dean Winchester drives like an absolute maniac.
Alex curses as the 1967 Chevy Impala tearing down the road in front of her increases its speed once again, doing well and truly over the speed limit. The speed that she currently sits at already has her on edge with both hands gripped tightly on the steering wheel, so she doesn't dare to try and keep on its tail, not caring if the older Winchester does nothing but bitch and complain about it later when they meet in Red Lodge. She's just gotten her car back in one piece – there's no way in hell she's ruining it now.
"You all good?"
At the sound of her best friend's voice, Alex relaxes. Somewhat. "Yeah. Dean Winchester just has a fucking death wish – he drives like there's no tomorrow."
"How much farther you got?"
"Like another hour or so. But the way that this moron drives, it'll likely be sooner than that."
When the two brothers had approached her about the possibility of heading up North to Montana to investigate a potential case two days prior, she hadn't fought them on the matter. They still had absolutely no leads on Yellow Eyes or the Colt, so the small detour in their road trip would serve as a momentary distraction from the depressing thought that they were potentially hitting the road to meet nothing but failure. With no real concrete plan about how to track down the demon and the gun, it certainly feels that way.
In Red Lodge, Montana, however, the perfect distraction awaits. A couple of severed heads, a pile of mutilated cattle – likely the doings of a satanic cult. Nothing that the three hunters couldn't handle. The hunt for Yellow Eyes could – and would– continue straight after.
"So, this case has something to do with your demon then?"
"Far as I can tell, no. It doesn't."
"Then why the hell are you taking it?" Isla asks, not bothering to keep the surprise out of her tone. "I mean, wasn't the whole point of you leaving with these guys to go and find the demon? Not just to go and do some random jobs?"
"The alternative is sitting on our arses without having a real clue as to what to do, waiting for the demon to find us," Alex dryly responds, unease settling deep in her gut at the thought of Yellow Eyes catching up to her. Shrugging, she adds, "Look, I don't mind if we pick up the odd case here and there. If it means that we're saving a few more lives along the way, then isn't that a good thing?"
Isla roughly coughs, not bothering to try and hide the way that she mutters 'weird hunting obsession' between each rasp. It earns the young nurse a glare from Alex in turn, even though she can't see it from her end of the line.
"We'll work on finding Yellow Eyes again once this case is over," the young huntress firmly continues, opting not to call Isla out for the accusation that hits just a little bit too close to home. "Hopefully this will all be over soon."
Isla immediately sobers up. "Alright. Well, just be careful. I know that you don't want to be running after this thing forever, but, like, just take your time, alright? I don't want to have to find another maid of honour to replace your reckless ass if you accidently get killed. Isodo not have the time for that."
Alex knows under the sarcasm that there is genuine concern for her wellbeing. It makes it that much easier to smile and lightly tease back, "Sure you do. Just ask that cousin of yours, Emily? The one that has your mother wrapped around her pretty little finger. Your other bestie."
"Bitch, you're not funny."
"Sure I am. That's why you chose me as your maid of honour in the first place, remember?"
"Yeah, yeah. Sure, sure. Whatever you say, Donovan. Just watch your back, alright?"
"Will do, Isles," Alex promises, before promptly hanging up the phone. Paying more attention to the road and seeing that the Impala is barely a black blob in the distance she swears. Shaking her head, she reaches out to turn the dial of the stereo, her nerves subsiding ever so slightly at the sound of The Donnas now blasting from the speakers. Exhaling slowly, she leans back in her seat and tries her best to relax, humming along to the music.
She had been right when she told Isla that they would reach Red Lodge in less than an hour, as forty-five minutes after ending the call with Isla, her Hyundai Elantra pulls into Three Arrows Motel carpark beside the Impala. She can't help but feel a sigh of relief as she steps out of the car, more than glad to be up and about after spending almost two hours straight sitting cramped in her car. Quietly groaning as she stretches her arms out in front of her as far as humanely possible to help ease the stiffness in her shoulders and upper back, she patiently waits as the Winchesters emerge from their car.
"You took your sweet time," Dean remarks, duffel bag slung over his shoulder as he slams his car door shut.
Alex resists the urge to roll her eyes. She had known that the snide complaint was coming, but it doesn't make it – or him – any less annoying.
"Don't be such a baby – I got here five minutes after you if that. It's not my fault you drive like a lunatic."
"There's nothing wrong with my driving –"
"You're joking, right?"
"You're just pissy because you couldn't keep up."
"I couldn't give a rat's ass about keeping up. In fact, I didn't have a problem until you started this shit –"
"Guys," Sam loudly interrupts from the other side of the Impala, where he has been watching the two bickering hunters with a tired wariness. The purple shadows under his eyes suggest that he could go for a few more hours of sleep, but he nevertheless has enough in him to shoot both Alex and his brother a stern, pointed look.
"It's, like, not even nine in the morning yet. Can we just get along for two seconds so that we can book the rooms in peace, please?"
The two hunters grumble under their breaths but like children being scolded by a parent, separate from one another, not without shooting each other reproachful glares as they go.
They amble up to the front desk with fake smiles and personas, booking and paying for two separate rooms under different names. Alex is more than glad to go and sort herself out in her room and unpack most of her belongings from her overnight bag, wanting to steer clear of the oldest Winchester. One more wise-ass comment or jab at her, and she may not be able to resist the urge to throw something at him.
A part of her, the more logical and reasonable side that rarely comes out to play whenever she deals with other hunters, understands that the two brothers have just lost their father and are likely struggling with this loss. And she understands that people deal with grief in a certain way. While Sam seems to be more dejected and mournful, Dean appears to be just plain angry, lashing out at those around him which, unfortunately, happens to include her. She's fine with the anger – she understands it, even, but it doesn't make it OK for her to be on the receiving end of it. It's causing more problems than she can count, and she sure as hell isn't going to just take the hits; she's more than willing to stand up for herself. She just hopes that it doesn't affect this newfound partnership. She'll walk away if she has to.
Fifteen minutes later, once she's fully unpacked and settled into her room, she reconvenes with the Winchesters in their room next door to go over the case notes together.
"OK. So, two dead girls. One found out in the middle of the woods, and one found in an alley in the middle of town, a week apart," Sam lists, eyes scouring over the multiple articles open on the laptop screen in front of him. He sits at the crappy little table with Dean sitting on the other side, their legs bent awkwardly under their seats so that they don't accidently kick one another. Thinking better on her feet, Alex opts to pace across the room but still listens intently to what the youngest Winchester has to say.
"Both were found with their heads cut off from their bodies."
"And the cows," Dean adds, reading from a bunch of newspapers spread out on the table in front of them. "Mutilated, a whole bunch of them. Keep popping up over the past week and a half."
"Mutilated how?" Alex questions. "Heads cut off as well? Ripped a part of something else?"
"It doesn't say."
"Right. And these girls – does the article mention anything about any organs or body parts being missing? You know, aside from their heads being separated from the rest of their body?"
Sam frowns, eyes searching before shaking his head. "Nothing that I can see – all of that information is likely being withheld from the public."
Alex sighs, picking up a random book from the few that she had brought into the room from her own, not knowing exactly where to start. "If we knew that, then it would be easier for us to narrow down what exactly it is that we're dealing with here. Certain organs can be used for certain rituals – it would be handy to have a little bit more information than whatever the newspapers are printing."
"So we talk to the sheriff," Dean says, folding the newspaper and dropping it with a 'smack' on the table. "Pose as a few journalists, ask a few questions – easy."
Sam nods his head in agreement, but Alex takes a more sceptical approach. "If the police department is really withholding any major details about these killings from the public, then what makes you think that they're gonna tell a bunch of journalists what went down?"
"Well, do you have a better idea, Queenie? 'Cause if so, then I'm dying to hear it."
She grits her teeth, biting back a few curses at the use of the nickname once more. "The heads," she says, hating the way that the oldest Winchester smirks victoriously at the obvious annoyance in her tone. "I say we head to the morgue and look at the bodies and heads of the girls that were killed. See if there are any parts missing, or any symbols carved anywhere. It might give us more of an indication of what ritual is being performed here."
"So you want to go and look at some dead bodies," Dean retorts. "Well, aren't you morbid."
"Beats being just plain stupid."
"Alright guys," Sam quickly interjects, noticing the way that the two hunters glare and subconsciously square up to one another. Raising his hands and likely wanting to avoid another full-blown verbal spat, he suggests, "We can do both. We'll go talk to the sheriff first, and then we'll head to the hospital to take a look at the bodies, alright?"
It takes a moment, but eventually both Alex and Dean back down, grumbling in agreement but not refraining from shooting daggers at one another.
Sam doesn't bother to hide his sigh of relief.
With some semblance of a plan worked out, the three hunters spring into action. It's easy enough for Alex to call the local police department and make a last-minute appointment with the Sheriff while the two boys change into one of the few suits that they have stashed away in the trunk of the Impala. Once everything is organised with the sheriff, Alex heads back to her own room to change out of her jeans and oversized shirt and into a more professional outfit, pulling her tangled strands of chocolate brown waves into a relatively neat bun at the base of her skull as she goes.
She tugs the edge of the grey pencil skirt down now as she hurries towards the Impala, cursing as she sees that the two brothers are already waiting for her in the front seats. She expects yet another sly comment about her holding them up once again from Dean as she slides into the back seat, but it never comes. Sam had possibly warned him not to start another fight or maybe Dean just didn't have it in him – either way, she's just glad that he holds his tongue.
Once she's buckled in, Dean turns the keys and the engine roars to life, and Alex leaps a mile in the air as music blasts from the speakers at a deafening volume.
"Sorry!" Dean shouts over the music, reaching over to dial down the sounds of heavy guitar, thumping drums and a loud voice borderline screaming in the space.
Still recovering from the shock, Alex lets her head fall back against the back of her seat, trying her best to calm her now racing heart. She's surprised to see that Sam is unfazed even though he must have copped the brunt of it, though she supposes that he would be used to it.
Interpreting her reaction as something else altogether, Dean shoots her a look as he reverses the car out of the lot. "What's the matter? Can't handle a little bit of good old-fashioned rock'n'roll?"
She wants to snap that whatever hell that is blasting from the stereo is sure as hell more rock than roll, but her still racing heart prevents her from getting the words out. Instead, all she can do is flip him off, keeping her eyes glued to the ceiling above.
"Dean, you just gave her a heart attack," Sam says, still straining to be heard over the music. "Maybe tone it down a bit more, yeah?"
"Uh-uh. House rules, Sammy?"
The meaning flies over Alex's head entirely but the way that Sam exhales slowly with defeat tells her that he knows full well whatever Dean is getting at here.
He sighs. "Driver picks the music –"
"– and shotgun shuts his cakehole," Dean finishes with a pleased grin, the Impala purring as he tears off down the road.
The drive to the police station is relatively short – there really doesn't seem to be a whole lot of Red Lodge to really drive through – and quiet, the only sounds being Dean humming along to the music still blaring from the stereo and the other cars rushing past them down the street. Alex has her window rolled down, a gentle and cool breeze hitting her face and causing wisps of the smaller hairs around her face to tickle her cheeks. It gives her a clear view of the police station as they pull up which all that big; just the perfect size for a small town like this and easy enough to find. Dean parks the car, and the three hunters get out, making a beeline for the front entrance.
The lady sitting at the front desk is on the young side, perhaps a few years older than the Winchesters, dressed in a pretty pink blouse with her blonde hair falling in loose waves down her back. A bright and easy-going smile spreads across her face as Alex and the brothers approach her, and she leans forward to rest her elbows on the front desk.
"Hi there – can I help you?"
"Hi. I'm Louisa Carpenter from Weekly World News," Alex says, the lie rolling easily off her tongue. "I called about half an hour ago to set up an appointment with the Sheriff?"
"Oh, sure! If you want to take a seat he shouldn't be too long, he's just finishing up a meeting. I should warn you though, he has another one in about fifteen minutes as well, so I'm not entirely sure that you'll get a whole lot of time with him. It's all I could do last minute."
"Fifteen minutes should be fine," Alex says, already heading towards the seats on the other side of the room. Sam is quick to follow after her and Dean as well, but the latter makes it a point to linger just a little bit longer at the desk to send the woman a charming smile, causing her to blush as crimson as her blouse.
Alex, witnessing the entire show, lets out a scoff as she plonks herself in the seat beside Sam. "Is he always like this?"
"You get used to it."
True to the receptionist's word, the Sheriff doesn't keep the three waiting too long. Five minutes after they were told to sit down, the short and round middle-aged man with greying hair and a thick moustache beckons them into his office, allowing them to sit in the three chairs across the oak desk that he sits behind.
"Alright – what can I help you with?" He asks in a gruff voice, getting straight down to business.
"Thank you for agreeing to meet with us, Sir," Sam starts off. Sitting in between both him and Dean, Alex sits straight with her pen poised just over the top of the small notebook in her hand, ready to scribble down anything and everything that they are told.
"We were hoping to talk to you today about the murders that have happened in town over the past two weeks."
The Sheriff smiles tightly, as if having already done this song and dance before. Which, Alex supposes, he probably has with the real press. "The murder investigation is ongoing, and that is all that I can share with the press at this point in time."
"Sure sure, we understand that. But, just for the record, you found the first, er, head last week? Correct?"
"Was two days ago, yes," The Sheriff interrupts, sounding almost bored. Alex resists the urge to nervously tap the edge of her pencil against the notebook. They're losing him, and they're losing him fast.
Thinking quickly, she asks, "Has the police department made any connection between the two victims? Aside from them both being female?"
"Like I said, I really can't share anything –"
"Well, there has to be, doesn't there?" She presses. "Two girls, murdered in cold blood in the exact same manner – heads cut clean from their bodies – both within two weeks apart. Surely someone targeted these girls for a reason. Who's to say that they won't do it again?"
This makes the Sheriff pause, and one of his bushy eyebrows raises as he regards Alex in front of him. The huntress, in turn, meets his steady gaze with a steely one of her own, refusing to back down. After a moment, the Sheriff sighs and leans back in his chair.
"As far as the department can tell, no, there isn't a connection between the two victims – aside from the points that you just made, Miss Carpenter," he says. "But in regard to your concern of this possibly happening again, the Police Department is doing everything within its power to ensure that it doesn't. We've set up more patrols, and are enforcing a strict curfew –"
He's interrupted by a faint knock on the door, and the four of them turn to see that the receptionist that Alex had spoken to earlier is standing in the doorway, a finger raised as she taps it pointedly against the back of her wrist. Taking the hint, the Sheriff nods and waves her
"Sorry, Miss Carpenter. Gentlemen, but time's up. We're done here –"
"Wait," Sam protests. "Just – one last question!"
"What about the cattle?" Dean hastily asks.
The Sheriff once again freezes in his seat to shoot the older Winchester a confused look. "Excuse me?"
"I'm talking about the cows found dead. Y'know, split open and drained. Over a dozen cases."
"What about them?"
"Don't you think that there's possibly a connection?" Sam elaborates.
Though the three hunters know what they're talking about, it seems that the Sheriff has absolutely no clue. He squints at them now, eyes flickering back and forth as if searching their faces for an answer. When he gets nothing, he holds his hands out, palms up and empty, indicating that he truly has no idea where they're going with this.
"We're wondering if there is a connection between the cows and the murders," Alex clarifies.
When the Sherriff's face goes blank at her words, Sam is quick to jump to her aid. "First these cattle mutilations, then the two murders, in such a small town like this, it can't be a coincidence. It almost sounds like ritual stuff, don't you think? Like, Satanic-Cult ritual stuff?"
For a moment, all the Sheriff can do is blink almost numbly at the three of them. Then, a wide and amused grin splits his face in half as a chorus of deep chuckles rumble from his chest, and echo throughout the otherwise quiet room. Slapping a fist on the table, he points towards them as if they've made a hilarious joke, although the three of them remain silent. Out of the corner of her eyes, Alex sees the two brothers turn to shoot each other a look over the top of her head.
She resists the urge to sigh and throw her head back. This is possibly one of the most frustrating parts of the job; not being taken seriously by regular civilians. In a way, she can't blame the Sheriff though. He doesn't realise that the monster stories he might have grown up with as a child are all real – he can't possibly realise that there is more to this case than just two girls getting murdered. He probably really does think that they're just pulling his leg.
Too caught up in his amusement, the Sherriff doesn't notice the way that the three of them don't join in on the laughter. It takes him a few moments to settle down and once his chest stops heaving from the cackles wracking his body, he lets out a wheeze and points one, wagging finger at them. It's then that he sees the more than serious looks on each of their faces and realises that they hadn't been laughing along with him, and the wide grin disperses into nothingness and is replaced with a deep, confused frown instead.
"You're – you're not kidding?"
Dean shakes his head, a tight smile pulling at his plump lips. "No."
All at once, the Sheriff sobers in an instant. "Those cows aren't being mutilated. You wanna know how I know?"
"How?"
"Because there's no such thing as cattle mutilations. A cow drops, you leave it in the sun, and then forty-eight hours later, the bloat will split it open so clean that it's just about surgical. The bodily fluids then fall down into the ground because that's what gravity does. But, hey, it could be Satan," he mocks. Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, he asks, "What newspaper did you say that you were with again?"
She opens her mouth to give the same lie she had given to the receptionist earlier, but Dean cuts her to the chase, unfortunately.
"World Weekly News," he answers, all confident until he notices the way that both Alex and Sam stiffen in their chairs beside him. The smile on his face wipes away in a flash, and he immediately backpedals, "Uh, I mean –"
"Weekly World News –" Sam interjects.
"World Week – it's worldly – uh, I'm new."
Alex reaches up to pinch the bridge of her nose. Morons.
The Sherriff sighs, clearly sharing her same sentiments. "Get out. Of my office. Now."
"Yes Sir," Alex complies, pulling herself upright with the boys quickly following suit. Not having it within her to meet the eye of the more than disappointed Sheriff sitting across for her, she immediately makes a beeline for the office door with the two brothers following hot on her heels.
It isn't until they walk back past the front desk and are back out in the parking lot that Alex speaks, breaking the tense, silent spell that had fallen upon them the moment that the Sheriff had clued into the fact that they weren't real reporters. "Well, that was a waste of time."
Dean rounds on her in an instant. "What are you talking about? We got plenty of info!"
"Oh, yeah? Like what?"
His lips purse as he thinks to himself briefly on the matter, but ultimately comes back within nothing. Grumbling under his breath, he turns away and marches back towards the car in an angry huff, leaving Alex to watch him, trying – but failing – to stop a victorious smirk from splitting her face in half.
It is quick to vanish, however, at the sound of Sam clearing his throat from where he stands beside her. Turning back to look at him (physically having to crane her neck back to be able to see him properly) she offers an innocent shrug. "What? I'm just stating facts." Then, "I hate to say that I told you so, but…"
"But you told us so," he finishes. Sighing, he asks, "You still reckon those heads are gonna be able to tell us anything?"
"More than what happened back there in that office," Alex says, before then adding as an afterthought, "I mean, besides the fact that the cattle mutilations might not actually be cattle mutilations." She frowns, suddenly not feeling as smug as she had moments before. "Huh. Guess we sort of did get something out of this then."
"He hasn't figured that out yet. I won't tell him if you don't bring it up."
She raises a sceptical brow. "Isn't that technically against brother code, or whatever?"
Sam snorts. "Probably. But to be honest? I'm too tired to put up with any more arguments between the two of you. Besides, it's nice to see my brother get knocked down a peg or two every now and again. It's not often that we meet people that can handle him and serve it back on the same level."
Alex would be lying if she said that there wasn't even a tiny part of her that felt a tad bit delightful at Sam's words, but before she can say anything on the matter, the sound of the Impala car horn blares throughout the air. Turning, she is met with the sight of Dean Winchester glaring at them from where he sits in the front of the Impala, impatiently tapping an imaginary watch on the back of his hand, signalling them to get a move on.
Sam rolls his eyes at his brother's antics. "C'mon. We've still got those heads to look at."
The Candler County Hospital is only a two-minute drive from the Police Department, and it only takes the three hunters mere moments to pop the boot of the Impala and grab out some lab coats to throw over the top of their more professional attire. The coat that Dean tosses Alex's way is far too large for her, almost touching her knees and swallowing most of her arms, hanging off her as loose as a curtain.
Ignoring the glare that she shoots his way as she pulls it over her shoulders, he shrugs. "What? I've only got the one size."
Muttering incoherently under her breath, Alex bites back the nasty words forming on the tip of her tongue, and only yanks the sleeves up above her wrists before beginning to roll them up, hoping that it would be enough to keep them from falling back down.
They venture deep into the hospital, easily blending in with all the other staff that they pass, who are too busy with their own patients and tasks to even spare the three of them second glances. It takes them a few minutes to figure out which direction it is that they need to head in, but after a silent ride down the elevator shaft and following the signs pointing them in the right direction in the sea of corridors, they finally reach the Morgue.
Dean leads the way and bursts through the door without stopping to see if there is anyone on the other side. Stepping into the room behind him and his brother, Alex immediately halts in her tracks at the sight of a young, Morgue technician pulling himself to his feet from where he sits behind a desk, an unsure smile gracing his lips as his eyes survey the three 'doctor's now standing before him.
Glancing down at the badge pinned to the young man's crisp, white shirt, Dean clears his throat, and steps forward. "John –"
"Jeff."
"Ha, I knew that," Dean laughs, a slight, nervous edge to it. Alex has the violent urge to swat him at the back of his head but keeps her hands pressed firmly into her pockets, wanting to see how it is that he'll get out of this one.
"Look, Doctor Dorkin needs to see you in his office right away."
Jeff frowns. "But – but Doctor Dorkin is on vacation."
"Well, he's back. And he's pissed, and he's screaming for you man, so if I were you I'd –"
Taking the hint – and likely being spurred on by the urgency underlying Dean's words – Jeff rushes past him, excusing himself to both Sam and Alex who step out of his way and allow him to squeeze out the door, taking off down the hallway in a sprint and quickly disappearing out of sight.
Dean turns to smirk at both Alex and his brother. "Not bad, huh?"
Remembering Sam's words from earlier about not wanting to have to put up with another fight between her and his brother, Alex only rolls her eyes and shuts the door behind her, before breezing past a satisfied Dean who turns to offer his younger brother a toothy smile.
"Hey, those Satanists in Florida, the ones that we dealt with a few years back, they marked their victims, didn't they?"
"Yeah, a reverse pentacle on the forehead."
Dean hums. "So much fucked up crap happens in Florida."
Reaching the desk, Alex is quick to find a box of white, medical gloves and wastes no time in pulling a pair out and rolling them onto her hands. She tosses the box back to Sam who catches it with ease and copies her actions, before holding it out for his brother to take. He then moves towards the drawer coolers on the other side of the room. Bending down so that he can inspect the tags hanging from the gleaming, metal handles. It only takes him a moment to find what he's looking for, and he immediately straightens, reaching down to open the cooler closest to the desk and rolling the tray out.
Alex swallows at the sight of the grey, lifeless body lying on the tray in front of them. What was once Christina Flannigan is now nothing but an empty shell with a missing head likely stored away in the tub that is placed between the body's spread feet, grey, withered and eerily still in the small room. She makes a point not to look at the top half of the body – though a body missing its head is one of the lesser gruesome things that she has seen during her time as a hunter, it still makes a pile of unease settle deep in the pit of her gut – and instead keeps her eyes glued firmly on the normal, sterile tub in front of her, which matches the colour of the now lifeless skin of the body.
Poor girl.
"Alright, open it," Dean orders his younger brother.
"…you open it."
Dean shoots him a look, before exaggeratingly picking up the tub. "Wuss," he mutters, before beckoning for both him and Alex to follow him over to the autopsy table.
He flips the lead off with ease and swirls the tub around so that the head revealed inside is turned both Sam and Alex's way, and this time, it's harder for the latter to avert her gaze anywhere else. The head is the same dull, lifeless grey that the rest of the body had been, and the eyes are round, dark and unfocused as they stare blankly up at the hunters. The mouth is parted slightly as if the girl had been halfway through screaming for help when the knife had sliced through her throat as easily as butter, which Alex supposes, had likely been the case.
Sam frowns. "Poor girl," he murmurs, echoing Alex's exact thought from earlier.
Dean sighs, eyes glancing at the forehead. "Well, there's no pentacle. But maybe we should, uh, look in her mouth? To see if those wackos stuffed anything down her throat. You know, like the moth in Silence of the lambs."
Sam nods, before turning the tub back closer towards his brother. "Yeah. Yeah, go ahead."
"No you go ahead."
"What?"
"You know, you know – 'put the lotion in the basket'."
Her eyes dart back and forth like a spectator at a tennis match at the childish display, while the Winchesters continue to slide the tub back and forth across the table, both equally adamant – yet refusing to admit the words out loud – that the last thing that they want to do is be poking around Christina Flannigan's mouth looking for something nasty on the inside. The bickering continues and there's no sign that it will stop anytime soon, so with a dejected eye roll and heavy sigh, Alex elbows the brothers out of the way and shoves her fingers into the mouth of the head before she can stop to think about it.
The room turns silent in an instant, the two brothers blinking in surprise as they stare down at the huntress between them. Edging her fingers towards the back of her throat, it takes every ounce of Alex's willpower to keep a straight face, even though a disgusted grimace threatens to split her features apart. Trying to focus on anything buthow her hand is now knuckle deep in the head, she mutters, "Far as I can tell there's nothing in here."
"You sure? You may have to go a little deeper…"
She shoots the eldest Winchester a deathly glare, before retreating her hands back out and holding them up. Sam recoils back from where he stands closest to her, his face blanching.
"Don't believe me? Fine. Knock yourself out."
Dean raises his own hands in silent surrender. "You know what? I'm all good, thanks for asking."
Rolling her eyes once more, she turns back to a quiet Sam behind her now, his hazel green orbs locked firmly on the head in the tub in front of them. Taking note of his parchment-coloured face, she cocks her head to the side. "You all good?"
"Get me a bucket."
"Why? Do you see something?"
"No, I'm gonna puke."
It's Alex's turn to step away now, and she makes a beeline for the other side of the table and far away from Sam, not particularly wanting to be anywhere within his vicinity if he does throw up. But her words have prompted Dean to inch closer towards the head, eyes narrowed as he stares at the mouth.
"Hang on a minute … Donovan, can you lift her lip up for a second?"
"What?" Sam shoots his brother an exasperated look. "You want me to throw up, is that it?"
"No, I think I saw something."
He looks at Alex who nods her head before reaching down to pry the upper lip back up, leaning forward along with Dean to see what exactly it is that has caught his eye. At first, nothing strikes out as unusual to her. But then Dean lifts his hand to point at a small, barely noticeable gap in the gum just above the front teeth, and when he gently presses down on the area beside it, a small, perfect white fang pops out, shining brightly under the light from the ceiling above.
"It's a tooth," Sam remarks.
"No – it's a fang," Alex breathes, realisation hitting her like a slap to the face. Releasing her hold on the lips once Dean moves his finger out of the way, she continues, "This girl is a vampire."
"And I'm willing to bet that if we look at the other head, we'll find the same thing," Dean says, face serious. "You've got to be kidding me."
"Well, this changes everything."
"You think?"
Alex freezes at this exchange, connecting the dots silently in her head. It's no longer just two, young girls that have been brutally murdered. It's two vampires. And as far as she knows, there's only one group of certain people that know that cutting the head off the head of a vampire is the only sure way to kill them. She tastes bile in the back of her throat.
"There's another hunter in town. One that's already working this case."
The two brothers look at her then, brows furrowed deep in thought. Either ignoring the unease written plainly on her face or just too busy caught up in their own thoughts to notice it, Dean says, "Looks like we've got a hunter to go and find."
"Excuse me?"
It would be impossible for him to miss the hostility lacing her words. "What?"
"Why the hell would we want to go and find this hunter?"
"I don't know – maybe to try and help him out?!"
"Looks like he's already doing a bang-up job all by himself," she says, nodding towards the head in the tub still in front of them. "Who's to say that they haven't already dealt with the problem here and moved on somewhere else?"
Sam shakes his head. "I don't know – the vamps that we've dealt with in the past tend to come in nests that consist of anywhere from five to ten members. There have only been two deaths in the past few weeks. Chances are, there's more of the nest still hanging around."
"And that makes it our problem how?"
"It's our case."
"Well technically, whoever this hunter is, it was theirs's first!"
"The only thing that I asked for when agreeing to hit the road with you guys, was that we don't work with any other hunters," she flares, watching as realisation dawns on Sam's face. "My one condition, which you both agreed to, by the way. And now we're one case in, and you're already willing to break your promise and start working with the first hunter that we come across!"
Her words take both brothers by surprise, and an almost guilty expression clouds Sam's features as he shoots her an apologetic look. When they had first agreed to the deal, she had had her doubts. It was a big ask, and a part of her had been sceptical when they agreed to it so quickly. She had known deep down in her gut that the issue of crossing paths with other hunters would eventually come up, but she hadn't expected it to be so soon. Literally just a handful of days after agreeing to leave with them.
Still, she had hoped that Sam, at the very least, would honour his word to some degree – it's why she hopes that the guilt on his face is just because he forgot about the promise, rather than him actually wanting to break it. Dean, on the other hand, the more reluctant and stubborn of the two, she knew would cause her grief. And the look of disbelief on his face as he stares down at her now proves that he's mere seconds away from turning her belief into reality.
"What the hell is your problem?"
"I don't work with other hunters –"
"Yeah, I got that part. I hear ya real loud and fucking clear. What I don't understand is why."
She bites down harshly on her lower lip, refusing to let even an ounce of the truth slip out. It's enough to cause Dean to swear under his breath and roll his eyes.
"You're a real pain in the ass, you know that?"
"Dean!" Sam scolds, shooting his brother a withering look.
"Don't worry, it's fine," Alex snaps, wrenching the gloves off her hands and furiously smacking them down on the autopsy table beside the tub. "Clearly you can't uphold your end of the deal so that's great. Fucking fantastic. Have a nice life, boys. I'll see you never."
She turns her back on them, her hands trembling from anger where they clench by her side. She should have known better than to listen to her loved ones. She should have just trusted her gut and sent the Winchesters packing instead of hearing them out, keeping her own promise to herself to never work with a single hunter again. Now, look where it's gotten her.
"Alex, wait!"
She pauses at the desperate plea from Sam behind her, and against her better judgement, she turns back around to face him. He's got his arms out and palms facing forward as if trying not to startle an angry or frightened animal, and a flicker of relief flashes in his eyes when she makes eye contact with him.
"You're right," he quickly says, before she can make another escape attempt. "We did promise that we wouldn't work with any other hunter. Which is why we're not going to work with this one."
Dean rounds on his brother in an instant. "You've got to be kidding me."
"Just, shut up for a second, can you?" Sam snaps to a surprised Dean, before turning back to speak to her once more. "Look, we won't work with him. But I still think that it's worth possibly tracking him down, just to see if there really isn't a case here to work on anymore," he reasons. "That way, we're not leaving any vamps walking around and alive if this hunter hasn't dealt with all of them. But, if he's still here and working the case, we'll go, OK? I promise."
The anger subsides somewhat at the sincerity in his words and the desperation in his face. Alex can tell that he means every word, but the small amount of hesitance that has clung to her in the past few days has blossomed into something bigger with this disagreement. She wants to believe him, she really does. She just doesn't know whether or not she can trust them to follow through with this new promise when they've come close to breaking the first. Because even though he's saying that they won't help this hunter with the case, it still means that she has to deal directly with them, something that she wishes that she could avoid altogether.
It's not Sam she has too big of a problem trusting with this – it's Dean. He must sense this, because he mutters angrily to her, "Fine. We'll just talk to him, alright?"
But would it stop there? What if they decide last minute that they do, in fact, want to help this hunter? What happens the next time that they cross paths with one?
Well, there's only one real answer to that, isn't there?
"Fine," she relents. "Fine. We'll find them and we'll talk to them. But if you make one move to work with them then that's it; I'm gone."