"I always thought you looked like a Chris," Sam says as he appears over his brother's shoulder. He chose to take perimeter check once they entered the building. There's nothing else of note, just more filth, and Dean's found the only interesting thing in the place. In the whole friggin town, it looks like.

It's freezing and the place feels like a post apocalyptic morgue. They hadn't woken up together but had the fortune to run into one another not long after. Which in the grand scheme of things and considering they have no idea where they are and why they're there (not that that's new) it's a mercy.

There's something in Sam that wishes this was an unfamiliar situation. Another voice in his head is ready to throw a hissy fit because he is just so god damn tired of this shit. Third voice- the voice of reason- says to put another cork in his impending mental breakdown and get on with it. Treat it like any other job.

"That blood's been there for months judging by the color and fade."

There's no use in pretending it's anything but. Red ink? As if.

"But this is what, a week? Maybe two," he notes with a gesture to one of the letters. Looping cursive asking for medicine. Which.. doesn't bode well for that guy. Or them.