"So, why these victims?" Dean asks as soon as their trio leave the hospital and Luke Alvez's bedside. He's probably using more hand sanitizer than is strictly necessary, but no way is he gonna risk getting bronchitis or some shit from this case—especially since Cas had made the decision to give up his mojo for good rather than return to Heaven.

While seeing his friend eat and sleep with the rest of them and finally call the bunker "home" has put to rest some nameless fear inside him, that didn't mean his healing powers weren't missed on occasion. He even had to eat a vegetable every now and again since Cas had informed them that he could no longer clear out Dean's arteries every month like he'd used to do as an angel. To be honest, Dean would probably be more willing to eat healthier if Sam didn't always get a stupid smirk on his face whenever he ordered a side salad instead of onion rings. Little bitch.

It's a strange case for sure. Sam's internet alerts had first informed them of a sudden uptick in depths in a small town in Idaho a few days ago and it had seemed like enough for the restless hunters to check out even if there wasn't much to go on. But after talking to the victims' loved ones, a pattern clearly emerged.

Luke Alvez, the father that they had just interviewed, described in barely coherent sentences how, for a week or so leading up to his two-year-old's death, he hadn't been able to get anywhere near his son. The enforced separation had started at about a foot but escalated to the point he couldn't be in the same room as Ricky.

He'd been having a babysitter take care of the toddler—claiming that he was sick—but after she had gone home for the day, a fire had broken out and he hadn't been physically capable of going to his son's crib to get him out. Instead, he had stayed within sight of his crying—and eventually, dying—son, not moving until a firefighter came and forced him outside. Dean winces at the memory of the man's second-degree burns.

"So far, this monster or spell has gone after a couple that was married for 49 years, two sisters who were home-schooled together as kids and pretty much were each other's only support system, and a still-grieving widower, who by all accounts, completely isolated himself and his son after his wife died," Sam says, as soon as all three men have piled into the car. Dean recognizes that voice. His brother's not just going through the facts, but clearly working through some theory. "Given that, these don't seem like the kind of people who would be singled out for a curse, right? They just didn't interact with the rest of the community enough to piss anyone off."

"So, you think it's after the bond then? Some sort of monster that feeds off personal connections like djinn feed off dreams—or fears?"

Sam shrugs, "It's one avenue we should look into."

"Have anything to add, Cas?" Dean asks, meeting the ex-angel's eyes in the rearview mirror.

"Sam's logic seems sound," he acknowledges, tilting his head.

"But…?"

Cas sighs, "But nothing. I agree with Sam. I was just wondering if, given that information, we might consider handing the case over to someone else. And then I figured it would probably be wasting my breath."

"Why the hell would we do that?" Dean says, turning half-way in his seat until Sams mutters, "Watch the road."

"It's a small town, Dean," Cas gives him a look equal parts fond and frustrated. "Generations of the same family still live here. High school sweethearts have gotten married and stayed married. But it's not going after everyone. Only the ones that, as Sam has pointed out, are the most co-dependent on each other."

"Yeah…'You jump, I jump, Jack,' that whole schtick. So…?"

"I've been watching humanity for much of creation, Dean, and in all that millennia, there has never been any two people more willing to upset the grand scheme of things for each other as the two of you. Or have you forgotten one or two apocalypses?"

"He's got a point, Dean," Sam murmurs, rubbing his hands over his slack-covered knees. And, yeah, maybe he does. But they're already out here, people are dying, and he's never been the kind who could leave a hunt unfinished.

Dean remembers a moment more than ten years back when Cas was still "Castiel" sometimes, and his low growling voice had said, "Whatever I ask, you seem to do the exact opposite." He wonders if the man in the backseat does, too, because at that moment, he rolls his eyes in a very human gesture. It is, simultaneously, a testament to how much things never change—and how much they do.

"So…," Dean asks the car, preparing to take the upcoming left. "We going to the coroner's office next or what?"

-oOo-

"Most of the injuries are as you would expect," Dr. Cameron says, pulling the sheet back to reveal Bethany McCarthy's body. She had suddenly lurched in front of a car during rush hour traffic last Wednesday, the damage from the impact obscuring what had recently been a pretty face.

"Most?" Sam focuses on the word, pulling out his notebook and a pen.

The doctor hesitates, but only briefly. "There are some marks on her ribs that don't appear consistent with a car accident…They almost look like—words?"

He seems startled by the somewhat excited look on the men's faces but obliges them by putting the scans he took earlier up on the computer screen. "She had liver problems when she was younger, according to her medical records. Her sister, Tiffany, actually donated part of hers. However, it seems unlikely that those surgeries should have caused…well, that-" he explains, jabbing a finger at the lines.

Cas puts his face entirely too close to the monitor. "I can't read this language," he murmurs, with a tilt of his head, which worries Dean. Cas can read every language.

"Did the other bodies have it too?" Dean asks, purposefully drawing the man away so that Sam and Cas have time to discuss whatever it is without being overheard. The doctor nods, leading him over to Thomas Haggerty's body; his face is dotted with age spots and wrinkle lines, his expression almost peaceful and not at all reminiscent of someone who died choking on a hotdog while his wife, a nurse, had been helpless to prevent it. Behind him, Dean hears the click of a cellphone camera.

He gives only a cursory examination of Ricky, stomach always a little uneasy when it came to kids and trusting the doctor to have spotted any other anomalies.

Dean requests copies of all the scans when he senses Sam and Cas are wrapping up, leaving Dr. Cameron with his business card, "In case you notice anything else," and probably more questions than when they arrived.

-oOo-

"So, fill me in," Dean says a half-hour later, after the three of them are seated in a diner booth. The attractive waitress had been all bright smiles as she took their order, hanging around a bit longer than was strictly necessary—but at last, she had gone to fetch two normal burgers and a Portobello-mushroom burger for Sammy, who had been playing with the idea of going vegetarian. "Writing on the ribs…So is that angels? Are we dealing with an actual rogue Cupid this time?"

"There's some glamor on the bones that's stopping me from reading what it says," Cas says, slightly frustrated. "But I have some ideas on how to get past it."

"Regardless," the ex-angel sighs, long fingers splayed out on the paper placement in front of him. "I don't think there are any Cupids left to go rogue."

"Meaning, what…? People are just gonna stop finding their soulmates or whatever?"

Sam shakes a sugar packet into his coffee but looks interested.

"Cupids never had anything to do with soulmates," Cas shakes his head, resolutely. "Their job was mostly setting up people who weren't naturally inclined to fall in love, like your parents, but whose coupling was needed for the sake of the grand design. Soulmates are more…part of the symmetry of nature. A person—or people—whose essence has the perfect resonance with yours. It's not guaranteed that you'll meet or that you'll form a romantic relationship if you do. It's like a puzzle where two pieces fit, but you could match them the wrong way or not try to put them together at all."

"And what about angels?" Sam asks, with one eyebrow raised. "Do they have soulmates?"

"They don't have souls, for starters," Cas reminds him. "Although I might have one now that I am human. I hadn't really thought about it."

"Huh," Dean says, not willing to put much thought into his pseudo-date-rapey conception or the idea that Cas might have a matching puzzle piece out in the world somewhere when they'd finally gotten him to realize he belonged here, with them.

"If it's not angels, what else writes on bone?" Dean questions, once the waitress had finished setting down their plates, accepting the older Winchester's wink with a blush.

"Some demons," Cas lists off. "Minor gods, witches."

"Of course…Why is it always witches?"

Cas hums in pleasure around his burger. "I still think a demon is the most likely option."

This is a sentence that should make no normal person feel better in the slightest, but in Dean's case, it kinda does.