Post by Dean Winchester on Dec 3, 2015 22:18:43 GMT -5
ooc; SEASON FIVE. EPISODE SIX.
"Agents Page and Plant, FBI." Dean and Sam both flashed their expertly faked badges at the coroner of Alliance Nebraska's morgue, smiling professionally. "Gentlemen." The coroner gave them a polite, professional smile of his own. "What brings you by?" "We need to see Amber Freer's body" Sam informed him. "Really?" The coroner looked confused. "What for?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "The police report said something clawed through her skull?" The coroner looked even more confused. "You didn't read the autopsy report that I emailed out this morning?" "W-we had, uh, server issues" Sam lied immediately and Dean nodded along with this excuse. The coroner shrugged, apparently buying it, and summarized it for them. "When they brought her in, we thought she was attacked by a wolf or something." He pulled out a long stainless steel drawer revealing Amber's corpse. Part of her skull was missing, a large portion of brains practically hanging out. The coroner shook his head, pulling the sheet back up over Amber. "But we were wrong." He picked up a plastic bag from the table and held it out for the boys to see. Sam frowned. "Is that a"- "It's a press-on nail" the coroner finished, nodding. "We found it in her temporal lobe." "Is that even possible" Sam wanted to know, his eyes widening slightly. It took Dean a minute to catch up to what Sam was asking but when he did, he made a face. "Wait, are you—you saying that she did this to herself???" "Uh-huh." The coroner nodded again, closing up the drawer and locking it. "She scratched her brains out. It'd take hours, and it'd hurt like hell, but sure—it's possible." Dean stared at the closed door Amber's corpse was hiding behind. He was still trying to process the fact that someone had literally scratched themselves so hard they'd taken off part of their own skull. "How??"
The coroner shrugged, not appearing to be all that interested in that detail. "Pick your acronym—OCD, PCP. It all spells crazy." He paused and then elaborated a little. "My guess, some kind of phantom itch. I mean, an extreme case, but..." "Phantom itch" Sam echoed curiously. The coroner reached for his coat on a rack by the door and shrugged into it. "Yup. All it takes is someone talking about an itch—or thinking about one, even—and suddenly you can't stop scratching." Sam tipped his head at the coroner gratefully. "Thanks Doc." He casually scratched at his collar. Dean scratched his ear.
~~~
"Okay. Okay, now, some of these questions might seem a bit odd, but please just bear with me" Sam requested, sitting in a chair across from Amber's employers, Francine and Gerald Hutchinson, the ones who had found Amber after coming home the previous evening when she'd been babysitting their son. Francine dabbed at her nose with a tissue and nodded. Gerald wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders. Dean wandered around the living room, looking for clues and only half listening as Sam asked, "have you noticed any cold spots in the house?" Gerald shook his head slowly. "Uh...no." "Okay, uh, what about strange smells" Sam wondered, though Dean did not hear the answer as he had drifted into the kitchen.
Sitting at the table was Francine and Gerald's eleven year old son Jimmy. He eyed the meandering Dean for a minute before asking curiously, "Whatcha lookin' for?" "Don't know yet" Dean admitted, keeping his eyes peeled as he moved. Jimmy's eyes trailed after him. "So, Amber was your babysitter" Dean asked after a minute, pausing his search. "Yes sir" Jimmy confirmed immediately, nodding. Dean leaned up against the wall, considering this. "So you were home with her that night" he observed. "Did you, uh, you see or hear anything strange?" "No sir." The words were out of Jimmy's mouth almost before the question was finished. Dean squinted at him. "You sure about that?" Jimmy's eyes darted down to the tabletop and then back up. "I—I would tell you if I knew something" he stammered, trying to look tough. And failing. Dean simply stared at him, prompting some more nervous rambling. "I promise. One hundred percent. Cross my heart." Dean pushed off of the wall and stepped closer, lowering his voice so as not to bother Sam and Jimmy's parents in the next room. "Well, Jimmy, I, uh...I happen to know you're lying." Jimmy shook his head rapidly. "I'm not." The kid was as transparent as glass. Even if Dean wasn't Dean and innately able to discern liars as easily as he was able to lie, he would have known Jimmy was hiding something.
Dean leaned over, placing one hand on Jimmy's shoulder and looking him directly in the eyes. "We gonna start talking truth, or are you and me gonna have to take a little trip downtown?" "Yes" Jimmy squeaked, shrinking away from Dean's intense stare. "I mean no! I mean, I'll tell you." Dean removed his hand with a pleased smile.
"That's more like it."
"Agents Page and Plant, FBI." Dean and Sam both flashed their expertly faked badges at the coroner of Alliance Nebraska's morgue, smiling professionally. "Gentlemen." The coroner gave them a polite, professional smile of his own. "What brings you by?" "We need to see Amber Freer's body" Sam informed him. "Really?" The coroner looked confused. "What for?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "The police report said something clawed through her skull?" The coroner looked even more confused. "You didn't read the autopsy report that I emailed out this morning?" "W-we had, uh, server issues" Sam lied immediately and Dean nodded along with this excuse. The coroner shrugged, apparently buying it, and summarized it for them. "When they brought her in, we thought she was attacked by a wolf or something." He pulled out a long stainless steel drawer revealing Amber's corpse. Part of her skull was missing, a large portion of brains practically hanging out. The coroner shook his head, pulling the sheet back up over Amber. "But we were wrong." He picked up a plastic bag from the table and held it out for the boys to see. Sam frowned. "Is that a"- "It's a press-on nail" the coroner finished, nodding. "We found it in her temporal lobe." "Is that even possible" Sam wanted to know, his eyes widening slightly. It took Dean a minute to catch up to what Sam was asking but when he did, he made a face. "Wait, are you—you saying that she did this to herself???" "Uh-huh." The coroner nodded again, closing up the drawer and locking it. "She scratched her brains out. It'd take hours, and it'd hurt like hell, but sure—it's possible." Dean stared at the closed door Amber's corpse was hiding behind. He was still trying to process the fact that someone had literally scratched themselves so hard they'd taken off part of their own skull. "How??"
The coroner shrugged, not appearing to be all that interested in that detail. "Pick your acronym—OCD, PCP. It all spells crazy." He paused and then elaborated a little. "My guess, some kind of phantom itch. I mean, an extreme case, but..." "Phantom itch" Sam echoed curiously. The coroner reached for his coat on a rack by the door and shrugged into it. "Yup. All it takes is someone talking about an itch—or thinking about one, even—and suddenly you can't stop scratching." Sam tipped his head at the coroner gratefully. "Thanks Doc." He casually scratched at his collar. Dean scratched his ear.
~~~
"Okay. Okay, now, some of these questions might seem a bit odd, but please just bear with me" Sam requested, sitting in a chair across from Amber's employers, Francine and Gerald Hutchinson, the ones who had found Amber after coming home the previous evening when she'd been babysitting their son. Francine dabbed at her nose with a tissue and nodded. Gerald wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders. Dean wandered around the living room, looking for clues and only half listening as Sam asked, "have you noticed any cold spots in the house?" Gerald shook his head slowly. "Uh...no." "Okay, uh, what about strange smells" Sam wondered, though Dean did not hear the answer as he had drifted into the kitchen.
Sitting at the table was Francine and Gerald's eleven year old son Jimmy. He eyed the meandering Dean for a minute before asking curiously, "Whatcha lookin' for?" "Don't know yet" Dean admitted, keeping his eyes peeled as he moved. Jimmy's eyes trailed after him. "So, Amber was your babysitter" Dean asked after a minute, pausing his search. "Yes sir" Jimmy confirmed immediately, nodding. Dean leaned up against the wall, considering this. "So you were home with her that night" he observed. "Did you, uh, you see or hear anything strange?" "No sir." The words were out of Jimmy's mouth almost before the question was finished. Dean squinted at him. "You sure about that?" Jimmy's eyes darted down to the tabletop and then back up. "I—I would tell you if I knew something" he stammered, trying to look tough. And failing. Dean simply stared at him, prompting some more nervous rambling. "I promise. One hundred percent. Cross my heart." Dean pushed off of the wall and stepped closer, lowering his voice so as not to bother Sam and Jimmy's parents in the next room. "Well, Jimmy, I, uh...I happen to know you're lying." Jimmy shook his head rapidly. "I'm not." The kid was as transparent as glass. Even if Dean wasn't Dean and innately able to discern liars as easily as he was able to lie, he would have known Jimmy was hiding something.
Dean leaned over, placing one hand on Jimmy's shoulder and looking him directly in the eyes. "We gonna start talking truth, or are you and me gonna have to take a little trip downtown?" "Yes" Jimmy squeaked, shrinking away from Dean's intense stare. "I mean no! I mean, I'll tell you." Dean removed his hand with a pleased smile.
"That's more like it."
