The Dead Bodies Mean "I Love You" Part I
Masterpost
This is a successful hunt. Dean has to give props to his baby brother for this idea. The pretty woman is tied up in her own apartment, tear tracks still trailing down her face. She is gorgeous, with an angular face and dark hair just begging to be pulled to expose that elegant neck.
Her name is Madison and she is going to die.
“Do you want this one?” Dean asks. “This was your idea.”
“Yes,” Sam nods. “All that pretty skin just begging to be carved up. You can have the next one.”
“Fair enough,” Dean agrees, pulling out a small knife. “You’re gonna need this.”
Sam takes the knife with a manic grin. “Check the doors. We don’t want to be disturbed.” He turns to Madison, holding the knife to her face.
Dean does his rounds, checking the front door, the bedroom and bathroom, and making sure all the windows were shut and bolted tight. Muffled screams come from the living room and Dean catches sight of a camera. It’s one building over and peers straight through the window. He flips the bird, gives a smirk, and closes the curtains.
Say what you will about Sam and Dean Winchester; they are thorough, precise, and dangerous. They are America’s most wanted serial killers.
Dean watches as Sam carves up little Madison like a block of cheese. Slices through that white skin with silver knives. He can smell the blood from his spot in the doorway. Madison writhes and squirms, screaming through the gag. Her hands clench in pain, the nails digging into the chair. Sam notices.
“We don’t want you hurting your pretty nails,” Sam says gently, pulling her fingers off the wooden armrest. “Let me take them for you.”
Madison’s eyes bulge as she notices the pliers Sam pulls out. She whimpers beneath the gag and shakes her head, fresh tears trailing down her cheeks. To her credit, Madison doesn’t scream when Sam pulls out all ten of her fingernails. She doesn’t scream, but she cries harder and sobs through the gag.
“Much better, isn’t it?” Sam says, leaning forward.
Madison slumps in the chair, her eyes glazed over. She’s not dead, not even unconscious. She’s just given up. All people ended up there one way or another. They stop feeling the pain, stop reacting to knives. Dean always feels a hint of grief when that happens. Like his favorite toy had broken. Though, that grief quickly turns to anger as he kills whoever is unlucky enough to be in his torture chair.
When Sam drives the knife into Madison’s heart, Dean laughs.
---
“A heat wave is said to hit the east coast this weekend-”
Click.
“The upcoming election has the nation torn in two as--”
Click.
“Police are stunned by the murder of young Madison Wolfe who, it seems, has been the latest victim of the Winchester brothers. She was found murdered in her San Francisco apartment this morning when she didn’t show up for work at the police station...”
“Sammy!” Dean shouts. “We made the news! Again!” Dean snuggles into the moth-eaten sofa as he continues to watch the story unfold with a grin on his face.
He and Sam travel around and stay in abandoned houses, somewhere no one will find them. They change cars at every state line, only bringing their hunting gear and a small TV. This particular house is pretty nice by their standards. Running water, small fireplace, and working electricity. Their duffels are thrown in the corner, guns and knives peering from the top.
Sam emerges from the bathroom, having finally washed the blood off his hands. He still has stains on his shirt and jeans, but is otherwise clean. Eagerly, he sits next to Dean, putting his hands behind his head and tossing his legs onto Dean’s lap.
They show the clip of Dean flipping off the camera before cutting back to the news anchor.
“The Winchesters have been at large for four years. Authorities don’t know what pushed these boys to murder, but suspect the death of parents John and Mary Winchester affected them. There is no pattern to the killings and no found motive. Men, women, all races and social standings, the only tentative connection the victims have is being tied with criminal justice. From simple police, to the DA of Austin, Texas. They have been quiet recently, no new murders until tonight. It is becoming clear, however, that no matter how long they’re gone, the Winchesters always come back for more.”
“They’ve gotten better,” Dean admits. “If we’re not careful they’re gonna know.”
“They haven’t gotten that good,” Sam laughs. “They haven’t found our pattern yet.”
“Sam, we don’t have a pattern,” Dean punches his brother.
“If you’re that nervous, do we want to move tonight?” Sam asks.
“I’m not that nervous,” Dean argues, turning the television off. “We’ve still got our cover. We can probably risk a few more days. Add another, non-related killing as well.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Sam says. “It’s getting too hot here. If we get arrested again, I swear I’ll kill you.”
“Kill your big brother? Really, Sam?” Dean gives him a skeptical look. Sam glares and Dean rolls his eyes, “Alright, we’ll leave when you want. We’ll go deep this time.”
---
The man turns the television off, leaving the room in darkness. He has been watching for a while now, keeping tabs on the Winchesters. In fact, he’s done a bit of research himself. He knows who these boys are, where they were from, and he even knows why they are killing. More importantly, the man knows how to respond.
He picks up a silver knife from the table next to him. It’s special. It’s the length of his entire forearm with a silver handle. It’s more like a short sword, light and deadly. He stands up and walks to the front door, his mind set. He pulls on a trenchcoat, tucking the blade beneath it.
Kneeling on the wood floor, the man prays in Enochian, the language of angels. He prays for guidance to keep him on the Lord’s path. He prays for a swift flight to the afterlife for those he is about the kill.
He has his mission, he has his victims.
He is ready to do the Lord’s work.
---
FBI Special Agent Victor Henricksen is baffled. He doesn’t get baffled often, and this one takes the cake. Three girls, all murdered on the same night in the same way. Not any three girls, - three known prostitutes of Illinois. Meg Masters, Ruby, and Lilith. Meg was found bleeding out in her home and Ruby was throw in an alley. He’s in a seedy motel off the highway, looking down at victim number three. Lilith. These murders are different than his usual. Very different. Victor presses his fingers together.
“Excuse me, sir?” A nervous cop comes up to Victor, “Meg’s mother wants to speak with you.”
Mrs. Masters is led by the coroner to Victor. Her white face is stained with tears and she’s holding a tissue tight in her hands. She has the same dark hair as her daughter.
“I saw it,” she whispers. “I saw the murder happen. He did it while I was watching.”
Her voice dissolves and she hiccups, fresh tears trailing down her cheeks.
“How did you see it?” Victor asks. “This is very important. I need you to tell me exactly how you saw this murder happen, do you understand, Mrs. Masters?”
She nods, “I was video chatting with her. I always record our conversations, it makes it more bearable for her to be away. He came into her bedroom and slit her... cut her open... so much blood and then he prayed.” Mrs. Masters looks up at Victor with wide eyes, “Who did this to my daughter?”
“I don’t know,” Victor shakes his head. “We’ve got a new killer around the block.”
“What does that mean?” Mrs. Masters begs.
Victor takes a deep breath, “Mrs. Masters, thank you for your cooperation, now I need you to leave this crime scene. Find the deputy, tell him what you told me and give me the recording of the video call, do you understand?”
Mrs. Masters nods and a cop escorts the woman out of the building. Victor looks down at the victim’s throat. The knife that did this was razor sharp and had a wide blade; it cut through the vocal chords and left no tear on the skin. No signs of struggle, no signs of torture. Just like the other two. Lilith’s hair is spread out and her eyes are closed, arms crossed.
A crash is heard outside and he sighs internally. That would be his partner. Ronald Reznick. He wonders sometimes why they got partnered up. Typical, nothing-in-common partnership. Somewhere, God is laughing at him, he is sure of it.
Ronald is smart, insightful, and has a head filled with fantasies, but he knows his stuff. He can come up with dozens of scenarios in seconds and thoroughly hash them out so there are no loose ends. He’s also a fanatic and tends to go over-the-top with his ideas. As much as they don’t get along, Victor grudgingly admits they work well together.
“Don’t worry, I’m here,” Ronald greets, coming into the motel room. “Hey, Henricksen, what’s the news on the stiff today?”
“You would know if you bothered to show up on time,” Victor says through his teeth. “Just once, Reznick, I want you to come to a crime scene on time. Just once! Is that too much to ask for?”
“I was busy!”
“Busy with what, exactly?” Victor asks. “Still trying to figure out Winchesters?”
“Actually I was talking to some witnesses,” Ronald shoots back. “This motel doesn’t got a lot of security but the lady at the counter remember seeing a man come in. Said he was suspicious looking, and he didn’t come back out.”
“A suspicious looking man in a seedy little motel?” Victor’s voice is dripping with sarcasm. “Wow, your observations are astounding.”
“Alright then, Master of All, tell me what happened here,” Ronald folds his arms, waiting to be impressed.
“This isn’t the Winchesters doing, that’s certain,” Victor starts. “First, they were in San Francisco just last night. Even they can’t make it from San Fran to Pontiac in less than 24 hours. Second, there are no pentagrams, none of their Satanic crap. Finally, no signs of struggle, no torture. Being taken by the Winchesters is worse than a death sentence. They like to play with their food before they eat. No, this is someone new. This is someone different. Someone who prayed after the death...” he trails off into mumbles.
“Sounds like another Satanist,” Ronald says. “Someone sacrificing for the devil. Oh! Or it’s someone who is killing the devil worshiping whack-jobs! Yeah, and they’re praying for their souls to reach heaven. Oh, that can’t be right, these are prostitutes. Maybe--”
“Gentlemen,” Victor interrupts his partner, the cops all looking at him, “I do believe we have a radical religious freak on the loose.”
He ignores Ronald slapping him with, “I just said that!”
---
Sam and Dean are looking for somewhere safe to stay, somewhere far away from San Francisco. Dean’s growing restless and that means he is itching to kill someone. He’s been driving for eight straight hours now; the brief rest in Elko doing nothing for his temper. He needs someone to hunt, he needs someone to kill. Sam can tell by his body language. The way Dean’s hands grip the steering wheel until his knuckles are white, the muscle in his cheek that twitches whenever he needs the rush, and the music that is blaring loud enough to burst Sam’s eardrums.
They left San Francisco the day after Madison. Cops were crawling all over the city and it was too risky to stay. Dean would have killed them all, but Sam wouldn’t let him. If the news was starting to catch onto their pattern, that was a sure sign they were getting reckless. They need to break the pattern, break the routine, and throw them off.
“Let me take over,” Sam says. “We’ll stop in Denver and lie low for a while.”
“I’m fine,” Dean snaps. “It’s just a few more hours, I can make it.”
“Pull over and let me drive,” Sam insists. “We don’t want you crashing, okay? Can you imagine the headlines? Sam and Dean Winchester, known serial killers, die in car accident. You want a little more flair than that, don’t you?”
Dean sighs theatrically and pulls over on the side of the road, “You win, it’s all yours. Wake me up when we get there.”
Sam slides into the driver seat and Dean walks around to the passenger side. Almost as soon as Sam starts driving, Dean’s head falls onto Sam’s shoulder and his soft snores fill the car. Sam gives a soft smile hearing his brother sleep. It’s always been a relaxing sound for Sam and Dean deserves the rest.
Of course, Sam thinks Dean deserves everything. Dean raised him, protected him, taught him everything he knows. Without Dean, who knows what would have happened to Sam? If he could, he would give his big brother everything. What Dean needs right now, the one thing Sam can’t give, is another body to mutilate.
Not right now at least. They are going under and they are going in deep. Cross a few state lines, keep the murders down, stay quiet for a couple of weeks. Just enough time to throw everyone off their trail.
“It won’t be that bad,” Sam says to Dean. “I’ll find you someone. I promise, Dean. I’ll find you someone to kill once our trail’s gone cold.”
Dean nuzzles his face into Sam’s shoulder. He takes that as a “thank you”.
Part II