The ride to the crime scene was quiet. Dean was preoccupied with thoughts of Lee, and Ray had never been the type to fill silence with meaningless chatter.  It was only once they saw the telltale flash of red and blue that Dean finally spoke.

"If this is what we think it is...what's our next step?"

Ray shrugged, reaching for the door handle as Dean put the Dodge into park. "We do what we do. Gather evidence. Hit the streets—"

"Good old-fashioned detective work," Dean finished along with him as he repeated Captain Danes' favorite motto. "That's all well and good, but what evidence? Which streets? And more than that..."

"Don't say it," Ray warned before he stepped out of the car, shrugging into a long coat against the cold wind.

Dean sighed and followed suit, burrowing into the sheepskin collar of his jacket. He knew what Ray didn't want to hear. No one wanted to hear it. But mutilated bodies covered in occult symbols could really only lead to one conclusion. Not to mention the things Dean saw.

But he couldn't exactly mention those, and there were only so many times he could pass the information he gathered off as a "gut feeling". 

He rounded the front of his car to join Ray, and they exchanged a look before walking down the road bustling with uniforms. Dean pulled thin, leather driving-gloves from the pocket of his coat, slipping his chilled fingers into them.

It was best to gather evidence starting with a clean slate, relying on his training and savvy as a detective. It was only when he found himself down a rabbit hole that he relied on his ability. Otherwise, the things he saw only tended to muddy the waters or narrow his focus, blinding him to other possibility.

Ray ducked the barricade tape first, but Dean slowed, coming to a stop just outside the bright yellow line. He looked up, squinting against the pearly whiteness of the early winter sky. His gaze drifted down, tracing the dull brick of the buildings that formed the alley. There was nothing odd that he could see. Not until he stared down the alley to the dead end waiting there.

Then, he only saw one thing. 

Heart sinking, Dean ducked past the tape and began a long, slow walk down toward the body displayed on the asphalt. Her dark skin was scored over with deep red lines. 

"Careful where you put your feet," one of the crime scene techs warned as Dean passed. "There's glass everywhere."

"Glass?" Dean looked down to find glittering shards littering the ground. "Why?"

"Well, that's for you to find out, isn't it, Detective?" the tech said, crouching down to begin snapping photographs.

Dean pursed his lips, eyes scanning the ground. They were all big shards, the glass of varying color and texture. The pieces lay scattered around the body, overlapping each other. He looked up at the buildings above, but all the windows were intact.

The glass wasn't from here.

The more he stared at them, the more he realized the pieces weren't randomly scattered. Dean circled first one way until he hit the wall of the alley, then circled back to the other side. He crouched down, gently poking at a red shard broken into a lopsided diamond.

Craning his neck, Dean looked around behind him until his eyes lit on a service ladder. He stood and walked to it, grimacing at the rusty iron. Distantly, he heard someone call his name from behind him. Dean grabbed a rung and began to climb.

"Chantry! What the hell are you doing?"

Dean turned to look over his shoulder, but only succeeded in giving himself slight vertigo. He turned back to the brick wall in front of him, waiting for his head to stop spinning. A gust of wind tore at him, rattling the loose bolts holding the ladder in place. Heart jumping, Dean placed his feet carefully, took a deep breath, then let go of the ladder with one hand.

The world swung beneath him. He could hear Captain Danes yelling at him as the ladder swayed and rattled in a stiff wind. His entire body shook as he swung out to the side, staring down at the pavement. At the body.

At the shining star laid out around it.

"Goddammit," he muttered, staring at something he'd only seen on the television. The glass flickered up at him, making the inverted, five-point star shimmer. "No goddamn way."

Like it was responding to his disbelief, a gust of wind blasted down the alley. It snatched at his clothes and hair, trying to rip him off the ladder. The metal rattled and groaned in protest as he swung himself back in toward the building.

"Oh," he breathed out, staring at the faded red brick. His knuckles were white beneath his gloves, his fingers cramping in protest of his tight grip. Dean licked his lips, trying to calm his heart.

"Get your ass down here now, goddammit!" The captain's voice was carried up on the wind.

Dean was more than happy to oblige. Hand-over-hand, he went back down the ladder as quickly as his shaking knees would allow. When his foot hit solid concrete, Dean leaned his head against one of the rungs, mind spinning.

Then a shoulder on his hand jerked him around. "Just what the hell are you doin', Chantry?" the captain bawled in his face, pudgy face suffused with blood, mustache bristling.

"It's a star," he muttered, leaning back against the brick wall, hands trembling. He began to search his pockets before he remembered he'd quit smoking. He fisted his hands in his pockets and looked at the captain. Danes stopped mid-yell, dark eyes bulging.

Just as quickly as it had flushed, his skin paled to a sickly yellow color.

Dean looked across the crime scene to where Ray was crouched over the body. His partner looked grim as he scribbled something in the little, brown-leather notebook he carried. When Ray finished writing, he looked up at Dean, his eyes sliding between his partner and the police captain.

He couldn't be blamed when he just went back to taking notes.

With a deep breath, Dean turned to meet Danes' eyes. "Captain," he said, ignoring as Danes began to shake his head, "it's enough."

"Chantry—"

"It's enough."

He turned away from the captain, shoulders hunched up against the cold and the inevitable backlash. No one liked the bearer of bad news, and Chantry had been the dumbass who kept bringing it up.

When he crouched down beside Ray, his partner gave him a sideways look. "I'm sorry, Dean."

His breath plumed as he sighed, staring down at the mutilated remains of a young, black woman. "Me too, Ray." He looked up to find Danes striding toward his car, steps stiff and angry. "Me too."