The night in the suburban residential area is very quiet. The old-fashioned street lamps on the streets emit a warm yellow halo, and the intermittently chirping of summer insects can be heard in the grass.
This is the home of an ordinary person that Dean worked hard to obtain. It is a two-story single-family house. The courtyard walls are simply maintained, and Ben's outdoor toys are piled in the corner of the yard.
The house does not have the smell of weapons everywhere, gunpowder smoke mixed with old paper, like a hunter's stronghold. There is a faint scent of sawdust in the air, left over from the carpentry work that has just been done.
Dean's T-shirt and jeans were stained with beige paint spots, and his hands and fingers were all stained with paint. He had just spent most of the night assembling and polishing a set of wooden toy climbing frames for Ben.
He was leaning on the kitchen island, rubbing the cold beer can in his hand back and forth with his fingers. The condensed water droplets on the can flowed down the outer wall, and dripped on the countertop tiles, creating small water marks.
He relaxed his shoulders as much as possible, trying to relieve the soreness.
Dean thought: I wish I could just keep going like this, without having to hold a gun or chase monsters anymore. But Sam still couldn't rest assured.
The coffee table in the living room is scattered with building blocks, cars, and comic books. There are traces of children's lives everywhere.
In this relaxing atmosphere, the mobile phone on the table rang suddenly, and the sharp ringtone directly broke the tranquility of the night.
Dean raised his eyes and glanced at the screen. When he saw the words "Sam", the faint smile on his face disappeared completely in an instant.
He clenched the beer can tightly with his fingers, and a few shallow dents were made on the can body. He hesitated for two seconds before reaching out to pick up the phone and put it to his ear.
Dean's tone was calm, wrapped in deep reluctance, and there was a feeling of exhaustion all over his body: Sam?
The background noise of vehicles whizzing by on the highway continued to come from the other end of the phone receiver. Sam didn't say a word and spoke very quickly.
Sam: I need your help. Now.
Dean tilted his head back slightly, let out a long breath, and kept rubbing the cold metal edge of the phone with his thumb: I don't do this anymore, brother.
Sam The tone sounded sincere, but the attitude left no room for negotiation: Just this time, please Dean.
Dean was silent for a few seconds, his Adam's apple rolling heavily, and two thoughts in his mind were tugging back and forth.
Dean: What case?
Sam: You will know after listening to this. Something is wrong.
A beeping busy tone came from the receiver, and the call ended.
Dean stood there holding a cell phone with a black screen, his eyes involuntarily drifting to the living room floor, where the toys belonging to Ben were quietly placed under the light.
Dean: As soon as I step out of this door, the calmness I have managed to maintain will be shaken. But this is Sam, my brother, how could I just ignore him.
On one side are Lisa and Ben, who live an ordinary life without bloodshed; on the other side are their only blood relatives, who are unable to escape the fate of hunting.
After being entangled and torn for a long time, his blood and family ties overcame his desire to escape from the monster world.
Dean put the beer can on the countertop and sighed heavily, knowing in his heart that he would eventually have to step into the darkness again.
Time passed quickly and came to daytime. At an ordinary resident's house in the suburbs, a yellow police cordon was set up around the house, and evidence marks from forensic investigations remained on the ground.
The local police and forensic doctors had just evacuated, and their discarded disposable gloves were still left at the door of the yard.
The doors and windows of the entire house are intact, the glass is not broken, the door frame locks are intact, and there are no scratches left by lock picking or violent break-in.
The security host panel in the corner emits a weak green light, and the device is in normal standby mode.
Sam was left alone inside the crime scene.
He was carrying a black hunting bag with severely frayed edges. The cuffs of his coat had developed a burr from long-term friction, and the hems of his trousers were stained with mud from the wild.
He took out a small bag of coarse salt crystals and several sulfur test strips from his hunting bag, bent down, and walked through the entire living room step by step, checking the gaps in the door frame, the corners of the walls, and the joints of the floor one by one.
The salt particles scattered on the ground did not burn abnormally, and the sulfur test paper did not change color. There was no sulfur residue left by demonic activities, nor electromagnetic disturbance caused by ghosts.
He knelt down and opened the thick paper case file.
The file records four serial murder cases: all four families died in their own houses, both husband and wife were killed, and all the infant babies disappeared out of thin air; all four households installed security equipment from Harper-Kane Security Company, and every time a crime occurred, the security alarm system was not triggered once.
Sam gently rubbed the black and white photo of the victim on the file with his fingertips, frowned tightly, and whispered to himself.
Sam: No trace of break-in, no Demon Mark.
Four households, exactly the same. The only thing they have in common is a security company.
He picked up the black pen, circled the name of the security company on the file, closed the folder and put it back in the hunting bag.
He took out his cell phone and placed his fingertips on the dial button.
Sam: There are many doubts about the serial murders. If there is a high-level monster behind it, it may provide a breakthrough for the Campbell Family's capture plan. The suffering of the victims is certainly sad, but my first priority right now is to seize the source of the monster hidden behind it.
The impact of the lack of soul was very obvious at this moment. He could analyze the case rationally, but in his heart he did not have the compassion and resentment that ordinary people should have when facing the tragedy of family extermination. The starting point of his thinking was biased towards the benefits of the hunting mission.
The afternoon sunlight poured into the living room through the large floor-to-ceiling windows, and Ben's photo frame was placed on the coffee table.
Dean turned his back to the entrance door, crossed his arms on his chest, stood by the window, and looked out the window at the quiet street.
The door was pushed open, and Sam stepped into the house.
He did not approach Dean, but deliberately stopped in the center of the living room, keeping a few meters away from Dean.
After being tortured by Hell's Cage and wandering around hunting with the Campbell Family for a whole year, Sam's brows and eyes were covered with a layer of vicissitudes that could not be washed away, and his whole temperament carried an indescribable sense of strangeness and alienation.
Dean heard the sound of the door opening and turned around slowly, looking at Sam's hunting suit covered in dust from head to toe, and his tone was wrapped in sourness that could not be resolved.
Dean: How long has it been since you came back?
Sam looked back calmly at Dean, with little emotion on his face: almost a year.
Dean raised his eyebrows high, and his suppressed emotions came to the surface: You have been hanging around outside for a whole year, and you have never looked for me?
Sam shook his head slightly, and his tone sounded very sincere: You finally got the life you always wanted, Dean. You want a normal life. I don't want to ruin it.
Dean looked away and fell on Ben's photo on the coffee table.
Dean: It's not all Heaven this year.
Sam A very shallow wry smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.
Sam: I teamed up with a group of hunters. People from the Campbell family. Gwen, Christian, Mark, and others.
Dean raised his head suddenly, and his whole body tensed up instantly: What do you know about their resurrection?
Sam nodded: Samuel. Grandpa. The force that pulled me out of Hell also brought him back. I haven't figured out the complete situation yet.
Dean The muscles all over his body tightened unconsciously.
Dean: The resurrection of the dead is never a free miracle. When an entire hunter family returns collectively, there must be a huge conspiracy hidden in it.
He instinctively warned that there must be some kind of deal or price behind the resurrection, but Sam had no more clues, and the two of them could not continue to dig deeper.
Sam was unwilling to dwell on this currently unsolved mystery and quickly changed the topic back to the serial murder case.
Sam: Let's talk about the case first. Four families were killed, parents were killed, and the baby was missing. There were no supernatural traces, only the security company. I suspect it is Shapeshifter.
Dean raised his eyebrows in confusion, with a puzzled face: Shapeshifter kills people, I understand. Robbing babies? Never heard of it.
Sam: I don't know. But this guy does things so neatly and neatly.
Dean glanced back and forth at the smoky furnishings in the room, and then looked at the exhausted Sam in front of him, feeling his heart twitch over and over again.
On one side is the hard-won stable life, Lisa and Ben; on the other side is his only biological brother, whose lives are hanging in the air.
After a long while, he exhaled a long breath of turbid air accumulated in his chest and made a compromise.
Dean: Okay. Just this time. I'll go home after you finish.
A roadside motel, the interior walls are yellow and peeling, and the curtains are thin, unable to block the dazzling sunlight outside.
The wooden tabletop was piled high: printed case files, photos of victims at the scene, security company business records, and police briefings.
Dean and Sam leaned over the table, combing through all the clues bit by bit, and confirmed the murderer's crime pattern: disguised as security technicians, entering residents' homes under the pretext of inspecting equipment, and after figuring out the layout of the house and the daily schedule of family members, they waited for an opportunity to commit the crime.
Just as the two were sorting out clues, their mobile phones received a message that the fifth crime scene was discovered by a neighbor.
The two immediately picked up their equipment and drove to the house where the incident occurred.
The couple inside the house had fallen into a pool of blood, and the carpet was soaked with dark red blood. Only in a crib was a swaddled baby boy crying non-stop. He was the only survivor of the entire tragedy.
Dean bent down and carefully picked up the crying baby.
His movements in holding the child were not very skillful, and his arms were placed extremely gently.
Dean: Poor little guy.
Dean deliberately lowered his voice and looked down at the crying little guy in his arms.
Dean: Hey, little guy. It's okay.
Sam leaned against the door frame, quietly looking at Dean's appearance at this moment, with a faint smile on his face.
Sam said with a little smile: I don't see that you are quite good at this.
Dean was a little embarrassed, and gently adjusted the corners of the swaddling clothes wrapped around the baby with his fingers: I have been with you for a long time, and I am deeply affected by it.
The two people took the baby back to the motel and took turns taking care of the child. They took the time to continue reading the files and dig out more details of the case.
Sam: Dean will always be emotionally affected by the weak and innocent. This kindness will often hinder the progress of the hunting mission.
He understands Dean's good intentions, but in his current cognitive system, completing the hunting goal has a higher priority.
The old-fashioned fluorescent tubes in the hotel corridor flickered from time to time, on and off, and the empty corridor echoed with the sound of faint footsteps.
Dean was holding the baby in his arms and standing outside the door of his guest room waiting. Sam needed to go to the next room to get the printed witness transcript, so he turned around and left.
A middle-aged woman with a friendly appearance walked towards the end of the corridor, with a flawless friendly smile on her face. She walked slowly and approached Dean step by step.
The woman's tone was soft and natural: Oh, poor little guy. It's not easy to take care of a newborn. Do you want me to change your diaper? I'm very experienced.