"Fuuuck look at her-" the short one laughs, slapping the tall one on the chest, "-She's fuckin' shaking."
"Will you cool it?"
"C'mon man, it's fun watchin' them twitch!"
Your arms are bound behind your back, elbows pressed together with a painful throb, pushing your chest out.
You look up towards the two masked figures, "P-please- I don't have any money- I don't have-"
"You gotta admit it's pretty adorable-" the short one, again.
"Please- just let me go- I'm begging you."
The tall one leans down, crouching in front of you, "And why should we do that?"
"I haven't seen your faces- I don't know who you are- you can just let me go-"
He chuckles, insidious, and reaches down to the bottom of his mask. He tugs it up in one swift move, letting his sweat soaked mop of hair tumble loose over his face. Eyes fixed on you, grin spread over his face. "Well, now you've seen me- guess we can't let you go-"
You shake your head, stuttering out nothing.
"C'mon man, I thought we were keeping the masks on this time-" the short one huffs, pulling his own off with a sigh. His face, tighter, eyes just as dark, both just staring down at you.
"Please- I won't tell a soul-"
"'Course you won't-" he leans forward, joining his friend crouched in front of you, "-Y'not gonna get the chance. You'll be dead by dawn."
"No- no- please- I'll do anything-"
"Atta girl!" He smiles, looks towards the taller man, "Surely that's a record."
He takes no notice, "Anything?"
You nod, your eyes starting to fill with tears, spilling out over your cheeks before you can stop them.
He leans forward, brushing his thumb gently against your cheek, causing you flinch at the feeling. "What do y'recon, Dean? Think we should let her try?"
Dean grins, "I've got a few ideas, how about you, Sammy?"
"I think she'll taste good- the scared ones always do."
"Fuck sake- you always do this- you've got a girl willing to do anything and you wanna eat her cunt?"
"How does that sound, huh, little thing?" His thumb trails down your cheek, brushes over your lips, "You want me to stick my tongue inside you 'til you forget you're gonna die?"
"Please- I-"
"Promise you that's a lot nicer than whatever Deanie here is planning-"
"No, no-" Dean sighs, crosses his arms as he looks between you, "Maybe I'm starting to get it- I think it'd be cute to break her a bit- make her think she's enjoying it-"
"So you do get it-" Sammy looks at him, "Y'always wanna go all rough and painful so quick!"
"Go on then, let's see-" He huffs, "But if she's not cumming in the next five minutes I'm doing it my way."
Warnings : Prison life for Sam, murder, blood, prison groupie / hybristophilia, arousal
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Sam Winchester Bingo Masterlist.
Sam sat quietly on his bed, re-reading the most recent letter he’d received for what felt like the millionth time. He’d had her picture for a few months now, and her number just as long, but there was something intimate about pen to paper that Sam always had enjoyed much more. He found himself excited for the day. The smile that graced his lips made the other man in the cell tuck himself away with a worried look.
“Relax. Today’s a good day.” That did nothing to reassure the other man, so Sam chuckled.
“Winchester.” A guard banged on the door and Sam’s eyes slid up from the beautifully written words on paper. “Your visitor is here, lets go.”
Without a word, the letter was tucked away and Sam got into position by the door. He waited as the door opened and the guard entered, cuffing Sam’s hands behind his back.
“Can’t believe they’re letting an asshole like you have visitors.” the guard muttered.
Sam smirked. “Hey, I’ve been good.”
“For a fucking week.” the guard spat, shoving Sam out the door. “I had to get stitches, you prick.”
“Next time, don’t touch my food.” Sam chuckled as he was led past the block's common area. “Hey, speaking of, when can I have a fork again?” he was smiling when he glanced over his shoulder, something that earned him another shove.
“Shut the fuck up, Winchester. Or you won’t make your visit.”
“Quiet it is.” Sam’s grin still on his face. Yeah, it was going to be a good day.
You sat anxiously at the table the guard had guided you to. You glanced around at others in the midst of their visits. A prisoner walked in, a visibly broken nose, a black eye still lingering and the woman at the table closest to you gasped as she stood. From what you heard of their conversation, he’d gotten in a fight with an inmate a week and a half ago. He didn’t want to name the person, but eventually you heard the slightest whisper of ‘Winchester’.
Suddenly you were worried about Sam. Would he come out looking just as beat up? He could hold his own, you knew exactly who he was, you didn’t delude yourself on why he was where he was. He was brutal, cold, a killer. They didn’t even know exactly how many people he killed, really. Or why. But prison was prison, it was unpredictable despite the predictability of the prisoners' days.
Someone new entered, and you glanced over to see him. He loomed over the guard who was uncuffing him, speaking to him though Sam’s eyes were locked on you. He’d just nod in response as you stood up from your seat. He didn’t have a scratch on him. His beautiful face looked completely untouched, and when you glanced over to the other table, you saw how the man glanced back and physically paled at the sight of Sam being brought closer.
You looked to Sam once more, openly staring up at him as he stopped next to the table. He was massive. He towered impossibly tall over you and you were in awe of the sheer size of him. He didn’t speak, didn’t say hi, didn’t greet you in any way, he just motioned to the table and then sat down himself.
“Right, sorry.” you chuckled awkwardly before taking your seat again.
“You seem surprised.”
Your eyes shot to meet his at his words. His voice was smooth as silk and you wanted to hear it again, wanted to hear him whispering all the filthy dirty things his twisted mind could come up with into your ear. “I guess you don’t realize just how big 6’4 really is until it’s towering over you.” you smiled shyly at him. “I’m glad I was able to find out.”
“Oh, I’ve been a very good boy this week.” Sam sat back comfortably, his eyes roaming you, from your hands clutched on the table all the way up to your eyes again.
“I’m glad.” his gaze on you made you avert your eyes again. The attraction to him was strong, you couldn’t deny that. You felt something for him in the letters but having him here, right in front of you.. You hoped he was able to get visitors more often. You wanted to keep coming, keep seeing him. But the way he looked at you, the way those deep hazel eyes bore into you like he could see past everything and into your very soul and he wanted to devour it, it had you feeling meek and submissive. Like all he had to do was think something and you’d figure it out and do it. He was dangerous, no doubt about it.
“You seemed more confident in your letters.” Panic hit at his words. Was he disappointed in you? You looked at him again, afraid that he was, but you couldn’t read him.
“I- I have a drink or two while I write..” you admitted, chewing on your lip. “You know, liquid courage.”
“Yeah?” You nodded. “That all you do?” You saw the knowing smirk hit his face as you looked away embarrassed. “Really?” He groaned, shifting in his seat again. “How about next time, you wipe those fingers of yours on my letter. Let me smell you.”
Sam was licking his lips when you looked up, and you couldn’t do more than nod to him. A silent promise to do as told. Honestly, if he asked you to, you’d put your hand in your pants right now and give him a damn taste. He was getting to you in the worst way, and you could feel your panties dampening further the longer he sat across from you.
Sam suddenly sat forward, elbows on the table as his head tilted a little to the right. “You writing to anyone else? Other than me?”
You licked your lips and swallowed before answering. “I- Yeah. I have a few penpals..” The look in his eyes changed, a flash of something. He didn’t like that answer, you could feel it. “You’re the one I write to most frequently. The only one I keep up with like I do and the only one I’ve visited. I don’t write to anyone like I write to you, I promise.” You needed his approval back. You couldn’t explain it, you just did.
Truth be told, you’d been writing to prisoners for years. There was something about them, about the power and energy they seemed to have that got you off like no one else could. But they all came and went, some not lasting more than a letter or two, others just getting forgotten over time or on release. But Sam Winchester, he was never getting out. And everyone was afraid of him. You were afraid of him. Afraid of what he could do to you.
“Hm.” he hummed. You caught his arm shifting in your peripheral, and when you glanced towards the movement, you saw something in his hand. Your eyes shot up to meet his in fear as a sinister smile stretched his lips.
Before you could fully register what was happening, he lunged from his seat to the table next to you and the man he’d gotten into a fight with a week and a half ago. A large hand grabbed the man by the forehead and pulled it back, exposing his neck. You flinched when Sam stabbed the shiv through his throat and the woman screamed as blood began to pour when he yanked it back out.
Sam’s eyes were on you the whole time, watching every microscopic reaction you had to what he’d just done as he shoved the body aside. Your breathing had picked up, your thighs pressed tight together. The shiv fell to the floor and his blood soaked hands went up, eyes still on you as guards rushed him, slamming his body against the table making you jump back and out of your seat.
Someone grabbed your upper arm, forcing you to take a step back as more guards rushed in to round up prisoners and rush out the families.
“You write to just me now.” Sam growled as he was hoisted up. “You’re mine. You understand me?” They started leading him off, tugging you away. “You’re fucking mine.” As you watched him be led out, one thing was unmistakable. His prison uniform did nothing to hide just how hard that show of power over you had made him.
Once you were out of the visitors area, the guard who’d ushered you out made sure you were okay. “Yeah.. I’m fine thank you. Just need a cold shower.” you gave the guard a small thankful smile before slowly making your way out on weak knees.
The guard shook his head. “Fucking prison groupies..”
You didn’t write to him, you weren’t sure if he would get the letters after what he’d done. You figured you’d wait for him to write to you and go from there. You dreamed of him though, often. Dreamed of him naked and covered in blood, that look in his eyes when he watched you. Dreamed of him killing people, sometimes even of how he’d kill you, how easily he could do it.
Two weeks later, your phone rang. You were shocked when the automated voice informed you of where the call was coming from. You didn’t even hesitate to say “Accept.”
It was quiet for a moment, but then you heard that silky smooth voice. “Who you writing to, sweetheart?”
“Just you. It’s only you.”
“Good girl.”
“I can’t believe you called me, Sam.”
“Why wouldn’t I want to talk to my favorite girl?”
You melted at that, but also felt a mild pang of jealousy. “Your favorite? Are there others?”
“That depends on your answer. What are you wearing?”
“I can be in nothing in a heartbeat.”
Sam chuckled at that and your eyes fluttered shut at the sound. “My good little girl. I can’t wait to see you again.”
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Banned Together Bingo 2020 | FREE SPACE - Crime How-To
Title: Green Eyes
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: Explicit
Pairing: N/A
Word Count: 1759
Summary: It's time for Sam to make his annual trip to Lawrence, KS. Everything goes off without a hitch, but he just doesn't get that rush anymore.
WARNINGS: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Gore, Death, Serial Killer, Mutilation, Murder
READ ON AO3
Sam was in a small town in Nevada when he decided to stop at a hardware store and do some shopping. He was on his annual road trip, and he thought it’d be good for him to pick up a few things, just in case. It was cold, so he had his hood up, even inside the store, and, feeling shy, he turned away from most of the security cameras.
Sam found everything he thought he needed to stock up on, paid in cash, thanked the cashier, and left with his belongings.
It was a few more hours till he hit Kansas, especially with a few stops on the way (once to put on snow treads since he was about to hit a lot of ice), but he made it to Lawrence just as the sun was setting. Hungry, Sam found a bar once he checked into a motel, one that was already hopping.
Inside he sat quietly and ate his burger, and fries, and drank his beer, watching the other patrons. Some of them were too rough and rowdy and they made Sam roll his eyes. They weren’t that pretty either. Now the women—gorgeous. But they weren’t what he was looking for. What Sam really wanted was a friend, but no one seemed his type.
Of course not, stupid. Your brother was the bar type. You’re the hang-out-in-a-library-till-closing type.
Sam sighed, and picked at his fries.
Dean did always say you were a nerd.
Still, he kept his hopes up as he finished his food, and then he had a few more drinks, played some pool. He started talking with a particular man who had seemed like the kind of person he’d like. It helped that he seemed drunk enough to be fun, but sober enough to not be a total, wasted idiot.
The man’s name was John. Funny coincidence, seeing as that was the name of Sam’s late father. He asked the man if he could settle for calling him J, and then they talked, and joked, and played pool together. Hell, one guy even tried messing with Sam, and J had him walking away with a broken nose.
“Hey, you want to get out of here?” Sam asked. “Find some beer that doesn’t taste like piss? Maybe some girls?”
“You got a place where we can take ‘em?” J asked, seeming a little wary, but somewhat excited.
Sam held up his motel room key, fist closed around the little plastic rectangle that denoted the name of the motel.
J gave him a high five that turned into a strong hand grab. He grinned, face reddened. “Then hell yeah, man.”
Sam tilted his head to the door. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
He thanked the bartender on his way out, and then he went out into the cold with J. Sam put his hood up.
“So, strip club?” J asked.
“Nah,” Sam told him, as he walked them over to his car. “The girls there are violent. I don’t blame ‘em.”
“I think it’s hot.”
“I think men should leave them alone,” Sam told him, unlocking the car, and climbing into the driver’s seat.
J got in on the other side. “What, and you do?” he asked.
Sam tilted his head. “Mostly.”
“Fine, then what were you thinking?”
“Another bar?”
J shrugged. “You know the way?”
“My family used to live here. We moved when I was still just a baby, but I come out here a lot to visit my Uncle Bobby. Oh, and I hope it’s okay if we stop at the motel first. I have to grab a few things.”
“Yeah. Cool.”
Sam parked out front, and then paused to put his hair up. It would be much too annoying if it started getting in his face now. Then, making sure no one was around, Sam held a gloved hand to J’s nose, wrapped a hand around his neck, and covered his mouth. He hugged J to him, keeping him from struggling much, and then he passed out. Sam let him slump on him because that was better than having him land against part of the car and cause a ruckus.
After repositioning him (poor J, he’d had too much to drink), Sam changed into latex gloves, and tied plastic shopping bags he’d had in the glove compartment over his feet, needing to carefully use two for each foot, and then keeping them closed with tape.
Thankfully Sam had set everything up earlier. It was getting late. He’d cleared the space, laid out the plastic… everything was good to go. The motel was even fully packed, and another patron would be leaving early in the morning, just like him (what a coincidence), so everything checked out.
It was too late for anyone to notice that he was out, and this was what he did every year, so he didn’t feel any anxiety as he got out of the car, went around to the other side, and eased J over one of his shoulders.
Sam’s knees buckled slightly. God, the man was heavy. He did fit Sam’s type though—at least six feet tall, muscular. Of course he was heavy.
He took J into his motel room and then set to work. He checked again that his hair was tied tightly and kept up under his hood, and then he got out the duct tape. It was hard working with duct tape with the gloves on, but Sam was practiced at this after years of doing it. He taped J’s ankles together, and then taped his wrists behind his back. Lastly, he put the silvery-gray duct tape over his mouth.
Sam kicked J awake.
Immediately the man started struggling, panicked green eyes swiveling, taking in all he could see before landing on Sam, who was now crouched before him.
“Hey.”
J’s eyes widened, and he started screaming. Luckily the sound could barely be heard.
Sam reached behind himself and grabbed his special serrated knife with the wooden handle from the waistband of his jeans. He rubbed his thumb over the pentagram carved right at the edge of the hilt.
“I like you, J,” Sam said, “which is actually why you’re here.”
J didn’t seem to be taking this in, too panicked.
Why did they never want to let him talk these days? Sam wasn’t trying to be rude. He did need a friend, just not permanently. Besides, they couldn’t stick around, not when they had short brown hair that could have been blond in early childhood, apple green eyes, and chiseled features. He saw Dean in all of them, and well, Dean he’d had to take care of. He’d wanted to leave him. Hadn’t wanted to go with Sam to college.
Yes, college had been Sam’s choice, but Dean had raised him. Why hadn’t the selfish bastard realized Sam would need him?
So he made sure Dean couldn’t leave him, and then when their father, John, started getting suspicious, Sam had no problem taking a knife to him too. That work wasn’t fun like it was with Dean. Just a necessity. But the son of a bitch had had it coming. He’d abused him since he could walk.
So here Sam was, finding comfort in J’s terrified presence. He liked seeing these men beneath him, liked looking into their green eyes and seeing their imperfections.
They weren’t Dean. None of them could be, and sometimes, Sam thought that’s what he was searching for.
J wasn’t giving him much fun, had just started hyperventilating as much as his body could with his mouth forced shut, snot was leaking out onto the duct tape. Bored, Sam killed him. Usually, he didn’t like to kill them right away. He liked to cut out their eyes first, but god, he just wasn’t feeling it tonight. What was wrong with him? Had he not worked hard enough on finding his friend?
Feeling a strange darkness inside at his newfound lack of feeling, Sam just set straight to work, cutting out J’s eyes; he kept the blood off his clothes. He’d mail the eyes to the police station, and with what was basically a non-address, it couldn’t lead back to him. Sam would even write with his non-dominant hand. That’s what he’d done to check in, and under the fake name of Sylvester Campbell. He’d gotten good at writing with his left hand, good enough that it looked natural, but different from his actual handwriting.
Finding himself upset at his boredom with this project (where was the thrill? The high? Any of it?), he finished up quickly. He let the eyes sit on the floor, weird, bloody lumps, as he wrote out the correct address on a manilla folder. It just so happened to be one of those ones with bubble wrap on the inside, so the eyes would be somewhat protected.
He put them in, then wrapped J up in the plastic, taping up the seams after folding them over and over on themselves. He picked up the body, placed it in the trunk, took care of the rest of his things, and then got in the car. He didn’t take the bags off his feet yet, but he had changed back into his winter gloves earlier, leaving the latex ones with J’s body.
He stopped at a mailbox, deposited the envelope, and then drove around a bit. The roads were looking better, so he stopped over by the bar again, and took the treads off the tires. Besides, the treads had done their job of confusing the tire tracks. Now no one would be looking for the type of car Sam had.
He was off, and he didn’t stop driving till morning. On the way back north, he’d left the body in the dumpster outside a diner, and for now, his trip was complete.
Sam sat in the car outside his cabin in Montana a few days later, wondering if he should go on another trip. Maybe then he’d feel that high he so desperately craved.
Sam just sighed, shook his head, and turned off Dean’s Led Zeppelin tape, not letting “Ramble On” even finish. Maybe another trip wouldn’t even fix this. Still, it was time to start planning his next one. Sam wasn’t ready to give up the moniker Green Eyes just yet.
Looking for satisfaction, Sam took out his phone, and checked the Lawrence news. And there he was: Green Eyes. He smiled. Okay, so it was still worth it. Just a little bit.
The first time he killed, he was 8, at a carnival. A teenager had made fun of Dean, so Sam followed him into the bathroom and stabbed him 16 times. He stole a shirt from a gift shop and rejoined Dean before heading back to the motel.
The second time he killed, he was 12. John had sent him away to camp. A boy in his cabin had tormented him. He’d yelled and he’d pushed and Sam snapped. He’s grabbed the kid by the hair and bashed his head against a rock 25 times. He ran to find a counselor and screamed and cried about how Nolan had fallen and hit his head.
The third time he killed, he was 14. John and Dean were out hunting and they’d left Sam at the motel. He ordered a pizza. When the delivery boy showed up, he was nothing but nice to Sam, but Sam was too far gone. He wrestled the poor kid into the bathroom and slit his throat over the tub. When John and Dean arrived back at the motel, Sam told them he’d been attacked by a werewolf or a vampire or a demon. He could never get his story straight.
The fourth time, he was 16. Sitting in his chemistry class, he heard tapping. Someone in the back of the class was drumming their pencil on their desk. Voices screamed in Sam’s head. He stood and walked to the back of the classroom and shoved the kid’s pencil into his eye. He looked around, and the horrified class stared back. A girl broke the silence by screaming and running for the door. Years later, the school closed, as enrollment rates had dropped since the so-called “chem lab massacre.”
Sam Winchester sat on the witness stand at trial as the prosecutor questioned him.
“Did you or did you not murder 36 students?”
“I did.”
“And why did you do that, Sam?”
Sam smiled. It made the jury sick. That wicked, evil little smile.
Sam and Dean had been doing this since they were kids. Once they were old enough to learn how to hold a gun, how to shoot properly, had the knowledge of how to kill, they were doing it. Their dad didn’t catch on to it until it was too late, the boys killing him when they found out that he finally had pieced everything together.
-----------
“Dean, look.” Sam pointed at the girl that was walking alone. “What about her?” This what they did. Sam would pick out someone who he thought would be fun to slice into and Dean would give his input. It was a system they worked out when they had first started kill 10 years ago.
“She seem’s like the type that no one would care if she went missing. Dark hair, dark clothes, dark make up. Hood up ear buds in. Long sleeved in 95 degree Texas weather. Yeah, Sam. I like her. When do you wanna snatch her?” He looked at his brother.
“I think we should watch her. At least for a couple days, make sure she won’t struggle too much.” Sam watched her through the window of the impala.
“Sammy, you like it when they struggle. Makes it more fun for you.” Dean laughed.
“I mean, you’re not wrong, but I still want to make sure that she’ll at least make it a little easier.” He smiled at his Older brother knowing that’s all it would take to make Dean agree with him.
“Okay, okay. Don’t gotta do the puppy eyes.” Dean revved the engine and started to follow the girl. Sam leaned towards Dean and his brother turned his head for a moment to catch Sam’s lips in his. Sam smiled as he settled into the leather of the impala.
They watched the girl for three days. They learned her every move, exactly which way she went home, knew what window in her house was hers. Dean was right, she wouldn’t be missed. Her family didn’t seem to pay any mind to her and as far as they could tell she didn’t have any friends. She walked with her head down most of the time, ear buds always in. On the fourth day, that’s when they made the move and grabbed her. Dean pulled the car up to the curb, Sam jumping out to grab her. It was late at night, no one around to see this encounter happen. Sam had his arms around her and was throwing her into the trunk, grabbing her phone and smashing it as he closed the trunk on top of her screams. He jumped into the front seat with Dean and they took off to their newest investment. They had found an abandoned house in the middle of no where, fixed it up a little and made it their home. The basement their newest dungeon of death.
Sam hauled the girl out of the trunk as Dean opened the doors that go straight to the basement. She yelled, kicked, scratched, tried to bite, but Sam’s grip didn’t waver. No one would hear her out here, that was another reason that they had picked this house to settle in for a while. Dean had gotten the table ready and Sam forced the girl to lay down, strapping her arms and legs down. She fought the entire time, even landing a slap on the side of Dean’s face.
“You’re going to pay for that one, little girl.” Dean leaned into the girls face.
“Why! Why’d you take me?! I didn’t do anything to you!” She pulled at her restraints.
“Because, Sweetheart. You made it so easy for us. You don’t have a life. No friends, your family doesn’t care about you. What is there for you to lose?” Sam smiled down at her. She had tears gathering in her eyes.
“I don’t...I don’t understand...Are you going to kill me?” She looked back and forth between the brothers.
“Well, yeah. That’s kind of the whole idea.” Dean laughed in the corner.
“I’d say that it’ll be quick but I don’t like to lie.” Sam turned around to look at the tray of knives and syringes that Dean had laid out for him.
“Please, please there has to be something that I can do to make you change your mind!” She struggled some more.
“There is nothing, Darling. Sammy wants to kill, so he gets to kill.” Dean smiled at her. She opened her mouth to say something but a scream came out instead.
The smile on Sam’s face as he cut the girl open was the prettiest smile that Dean has ever seen. It only happened when Sam was burying a blade into someone. Dean praised his brother, telling him how well he was doing, how beautiful the girls screams were because of what Sam was doing.
Sam was taking his time with her, making her feel everything. The brothers very well could’ve sedated the girls, take a little of the pain away. But they enjoyed the screams.
“Please, please, please...” the girl was whispering, rolling her head back and forth. Dean had gotten annoyed and walked to the top of the table, grabbing the girls hair and holding her in place.
“Stop begging.” He told her. “Nothing is going to stop this.” She let out a body racking sob, Dean looking up at his brother. Sam looked at him with compassion in his eyes. He looked down at the girl and she screamed when he moved the knife closer to her throat.
“Say good bye to the world, sweetheart.” Sam dug the knife across her throat so viciously that when he pulled it away Dean could see her trachea.
“Good job, Sammy.” Dean leaned over the dead girl and kissed him.
Currently thinking of Agent Henriksen sending his agents out undercover, trying to get as many men and women on the ground as possible. They call in local cops, and not-so-local cops deputized just for this, trying to saturate the parades and bars with law enforcement, all of them under strict orders to turn a blind eye to casual drug use or underage drinking.
New Orleans a big town, but the Winchesters haven’t missed Mardi Gras since 1996, and Henriksen’s betting they won’t miss this year either.
Of course, it’s gonna be a bit hard to find them in this sea of drunken revelry, filled with masks and fantasy. And he’s been closing in lately - the Winchesters may be arrogant, but they’re not stupid. Still, this is the best shot they’ve had at catching them.
Everyone on the team knows this is a long shot, but the rookie’s the only one who dares to say it. “Do you really think they’ll be here? They have to know we’re watching.”
“If they’re not here, they’re somewhere. We’ll know by Wednesday, one way or another,” Henriksen says, not looking up from his file of past Mardi Gras murders, trying to find a pattern. There isn’t one, except for the obvious - the Winchesters find someone and kill them. Sometimes more than one.
It’s well after sunset when they find the first body behind a dumpster. A woman, strung up by her wrists, naked except for the string of beads hanging over her chest. Her breasts have been removed, the cuts neat and precise.
“Sam,” says Henriksen, stepping back from the body and motioning for the forensics guys to take over.
He hears the rookie ask “How does he know?” and shakes his head.
“Dean’s messier, and he… appreciates the female form. The mutilation... well. That’s all Sam.”
And the rookie looks like he has another question, but a call comes over the radio - another body found, another woman with her breasts removed. And that’s how the night goes, trailing the Winchesters up and down Bourbon street, always a step too slow to catch them, always too late to save their victims.
The last, found just before dawn, is the worst. One of their undercover cops, this time with a fake badge pinned to her flesh.
Henriksen looks at her - young, not long out of the academy, eager to prove herself, excited to be a part of the task force - and slams his fist into a brick wall. Well away from the scene, he’s not about to contaminate it. “Goddamn Dean brotherfucking Winchester!”
“I thought he said Sam was the killer this time?” the rookie asks another agent.
The agent laughs bitterly. “Yeah. Sam killed her. All of them. But you know why?”
“Why?”
Henriksen looks over. “I guaran-fucking-tee Dean was handing out the beads. Because Dean Winchester appreciates the ladies, but he really appreciates Sam getting riled up and jealous.”
