The doorway Jo stands in leads to an empty, dusty room. Aside from the closet. Several neat and untouched items of clothing still hang from wooden hangers.


Sam's jaw sets and it's an effort not to snap at her. Deanna. Mary. Zombies, shapeshifters, alternate-universe-whatthefuckever. No matter which way it's spun, they're freaks masquerading as Winchesters.

No reason at all for that to rub Sam the wrong way.

"Take your time," he says, low and almost monotone as he heads for the door. "I'll be in the car."