The next morning, Dean, Sam, and Henry arrived at the county morgue to examine the latest victim.
The deceased was a forty-four-year-old man who had spent most of his life as an athlete. According to the preliminary report, he had collapsed without warning and died from an apparent heart attack.
The medical examiner pulled the sheet back, revealing the body. Sam glanced over the file before looking at the doctor.
"So, did you notice anything unusual?"
The doctor raised an eyebrow. "Unusual? He died of a heart attack. That's about as straightforward as it gets."
Dean flashed an easy smile. "Sure, but the autopsy isn't finished yet, right? Sometimes people don't stay as straightforward as they first appear."
The doctor shrugged. "Fair enough." He pulled on a pair of latex gloves, adjusted his surgical mask, and picked up a scalpel.
"I'm about to find out." He looked at the three men. "You boys planning to stick around? It tends to get messy once I start, and I'd rather not have anyone passing out on my floor."
Dean smirked and glanced toward Henry.
Henry immediately raised both hands. "Don't look at me." He took a step toward the door.
"I'll wait in the lobby." Autopsies had a way of killing his appetite.
Dean chuckled. "Probably for the best."
Sam gave Henry an understanding nod before turning his attention back to the body.
Once Henry left, the doctor took a steady breath and lowered the scalpel toward the victim's chest while Dean and Sam watched closely, hoping the autopsy would reveal something that explained why a perfectly healthy athlete had died without warning.
Henry sat in the lobby, idly watching the television as his thoughts drifted back to the original timeline. He tried to remember if there had ever been a case like this.
Nothing came to mind — but he wasn't surprised. Over the course of fifteen seasons, Sam and Dean had worked hundreds of hunts. Ghosts, demons, monsters, cursed objects — you couldn't expect anyone to remember every single case.
About an hour later, Dean walked out of the morgue, wiping his face with a handkerchief. Henry looked up and smirked. "What? Don't tell me you got splashed."
Dean grimaced. "Yeah. Comes with the territory."
"So, anything?"
Dean shook his head. "Couldn't find a damn thing. As far as the autopsy goes, the guy really died of a heart attack. No poison, no injuries, nothing that points to foul play."
"So what's the next move?"
"Sam and I are going to talk to the victim's best friend. See if he had any enemies or if anything weird was going on before he died." Dean tore a page from his notebook and handed it to Henry. "I want you to check out the previous victim. Talk to his next of kin. Sometimes family notices things nobody else does."
Henry glanced at the address and nodded. "Alright."
***
An hour later, Henry found himself sitting across from the previous victim's elderly mother.
The interview was... painful.
She was hard of hearing, and nearly every question had to be repeated two or three times.
Even when she heard him correctly, she'd drift off into stories about her son's childhood, her late husband, or something that had happened twenty years ago. Every time Henry managed to steer the conversation back to the case, she'd wander off on another tangent.
By the time he finally wrapped up the interview, the afternoon sun was already shining through the front windows. Henry stepped outside, loosened his tie, slipped off his coat, and let out a long breath.
"Fuck..."
A moment later, the familiar black Impala pulled up beside him. Henry climbed into the back seat.
Dean glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "How'd it go?"
Henry let his head fall back against the seat. "Next time, you deal with little old ladies. That woman talked me into another dimension."
Dean chuckled as he pulled away from the curb. "Yeah, that's why I gave her to you."
Sam looked over his shoulder with a faint smile. "Did you at least get something useful?"
"Eventually. It just took three hours and about twenty stories that had nothing to do with the case."
A few minutes later, Sam frowned. The speedometer was sitting at twenty miles per hour, and the road was almost empty.
"Dean..." Sam said slowly. "Why are you driving twenty?"
Dean didn't even look at him. "Because it's a city."
Sam blinked. "...And?"
"It's dangerous to drive above twenty in a city."
The Impala fell silent.
Henry slowly leaned forward from the back seat. "I'm sorry... did you just say it's dangerous to drive over twenty?"
Dean nodded matter-of-factly. "Yeah. You never know when someone might step out into the road."
Sam and Henry stared at him. Neither of them spoke for several seconds.
Dean noticed the silence and frowned. "What?"
Henry looked at Sam before looking back at Dean. "Nothing."
Sam shook his head. "No... it's just... I've known you for years." He paused. "I've seen you do seventy through a town because you didn't want to miss a pie festival."
Dean looked genuinely offended. "That's completely different."
Henry and Sam exchanged another look.
Neither of them knew what was going on, but one thing was clear — Dean was definitely acting strange.
*****
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