Nightshift 43 - Morgue
[From here with Sam]
The morgue door took a few more hits before it, too, slammed open, and Dean was just glad they hadn't built stronger doors 'cause his leg was starting to get tired.
The morgue was just as cold as the last time they'd been here, his breath coming out white in the chilled air as he stepped inside, taking the right and just automatically assuming Sam would take his left in order to clear the room. They hadn't got attacked last time they'd been here - really, stalked, yeah, but not actually attacked - but apparently dead people could walk and Dean didn't want to get jumped by a zombie or a spirit just 'cause he got lazy. There wasn't much he could do with a bowie knife: just paying attention to your surroundings was really just half the battle, especially if you knew what to look for. Dean didn't head immediately over to deal with Kal and Harry until he was satisfied that there wasn't anything hiding in the shadows.
Dean shone his flashlight on the drawers, counting them out to where he remembered the two bodies were.
One was missing.
"Kal's missing," Dean said, frowning. The dead kid's body was just gone - empty label - and he checked, too, pulling the shelf out, but it was empty. "We're too late for him."
That was usually the part where you'd want to hunt down that body wherever they took it, but checking the other drawer, he could see Harry was still there. At least, according to the label. When he opened up the shelf, he'd been expecting the other patient's body to roll out, just like it had the night before.
He hadn't been expecting to find the dead man in a box, a lid sealed over it. Dean didn't open it at first. Boxes? Dean didn't like it when the stiffs came in small boxes. Meant they were in pieces, for some reason or another, and while he'd seen his fair share of messes, it didn't mean he had to like it, and he supposed the only plus side was the morgue was so cold that it wouldn't be...well, "ripe" was one way of putting it. Dean took a second to steel himself for whatever gore was gonna definitely be in there and then opened the box, pulling the top off and - yeah, Harry Osborn was definitely in pieces, big and small, and some of it he couldn't even tell what it was. Dean thought he could see was what could be the remains of arms and legs, but a lot of it was just a frozen, red pulp with some blackened bits and pieces, like it'd been partially burned.
"Looks like it wasn't enough he got gored," Dean said quietly. What'd happened? Why would you do this to a guy who was already dead? If it was a hunter, he'd get it, but this didn't look like a hunter's MO to him. Hunters would do the SOP with a traditional salt 'n burn with any remains, not this, which didn't look like he'd been torched the right way at all to him.
If Harry's spirit had been possibly pissed then, Dean was pretty sure he was even more pissed off now.
The morgue door took a few more hits before it, too, slammed open, and Dean was just glad they hadn't built stronger doors 'cause his leg was starting to get tired.
The morgue was just as cold as the last time they'd been here, his breath coming out white in the chilled air as he stepped inside, taking the right and just automatically assuming Sam would take his left in order to clear the room. They hadn't got attacked last time they'd been here - really, stalked, yeah, but not actually attacked - but apparently dead people could walk and Dean didn't want to get jumped by a zombie or a spirit just 'cause he got lazy. There wasn't much he could do with a bowie knife: just paying attention to your surroundings was really just half the battle, especially if you knew what to look for. Dean didn't head immediately over to deal with Kal and Harry until he was satisfied that there wasn't anything hiding in the shadows.
Dean shone his flashlight on the drawers, counting them out to where he remembered the two bodies were.
One was missing.
"Kal's missing," Dean said, frowning. The dead kid's body was just gone - empty label - and he checked, too, pulling the shelf out, but it was empty. "We're too late for him."
That was usually the part where you'd want to hunt down that body wherever they took it, but checking the other drawer, he could see Harry was still there. At least, according to the label. When he opened up the shelf, he'd been expecting the other patient's body to roll out, just like it had the night before.
He hadn't been expecting to find the dead man in a box, a lid sealed over it. Dean didn't open it at first. Boxes? Dean didn't like it when the stiffs came in small boxes. Meant they were in pieces, for some reason or another, and while he'd seen his fair share of messes, it didn't mean he had to like it, and he supposed the only plus side was the morgue was so cold that it wouldn't be...well, "ripe" was one way of putting it. Dean took a second to steel himself for whatever gore was gonna definitely be in there and then opened the box, pulling the top off and - yeah, Harry Osborn was definitely in pieces, big and small, and some of it he couldn't even tell what it was. Dean thought he could see was what could be the remains of arms and legs, but a lot of it was just a frozen, red pulp with some blackened bits and pieces, like it'd been partially burned.
"Looks like it wasn't enough he got gored," Dean said quietly. What'd happened? Why would you do this to a guy who was already dead? If it was a hunter, he'd get it, but this didn't look like a hunter's MO to him. Hunters would do the SOP with a traditional salt 'n burn with any remains, not this, which didn't look like he'd been torched the right way at all to him.
If Harry's spirit had been possibly pissed then, Dean was pretty sure he was even more pissed off now.