A/N: Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed thus far. Your support means the world to me.

Disclaimer: see chapter one

"So, what's this case you're dragging me to, again?" Dean asked as he pulled at his tie.

"Red Rock, Virginia," Sam read from his tablet. "A woman was meeting up with her friends at a cabin one of them owned, but when she got there, two of them had been massacred and the third was missing."

"Cause of death?" Dean asked instinctively, turning on to a dirt road.

"Uh..." Sam huffed through clenched teeth. "Disembowelment," he replied. "As well as having their blood completely drained."

Dean slowly frowned, glancing over at his brother for a quick moment. "Seriously?" he asked.

Sam nodded, rereading the report. "The only blood found at the crime scene was the blood from the wounds in the victim's torsos," he explained.

"Damn," Dean hissed. "Poor lady. Going to the cabin for a relaxing weekend and come to find that." He slowed down when he came to the barricade. "Ah, hell."

Sam looked through the windshield to see the FBI crime scene unit truck. Dean put the car in park and turned off the engine.

"You failed to mention this was an FBI case," he complained.

"I didn't know. The report failed to mention that detail," Sam defended.

"We are so going to jail," Dean grumbled as he got out of the car.

Sam followed his brother as they approached the yellow tape. The sheriff turned as they walked up. The siblings flashed their fake badges.

"I'm agent Manson, this is my partner agent Walker," Dean said.

"FBI's pulling out all the stops," the sheriff noted. He turned back to look at the CSU. "Can't say I blame the Bureau. After all, it was your men."

"Where's the woman who found the bodies?" Sam asked.

The sheriff looked back at him. "You mean agent O'Conner? She's right over there," he replied, pointing to a woman with short, dark blonde hair. She was sitting on the back of an ambulance, wrapped in a blanket.

Dean gave Sam a hard look before walking over to the ambulance. Sam gave the sheriff a grateful smile before following his brother. Dean walked up to the woman, identified by the sheriff as agent O'Conner.

"Excuse me," Dean said. "Agent O'Conner?"

The woman looked up, her green eyes wet with tears. "Ireland," she muttered. "Who are you?"

Dean hesitated, not sure what to do. The best he could do was give it a shot. "Agent Manson," he replied. He pointed his thumb over his shoulder at Sam. "And my partner, agent Walker."

"You boys must be new," Ireland said, her voice dull and distant. "The Bureau's sending rookies to handle the case, now, are they?"

Dean wasn't sure if he should be insulted or not by her comment. However, Sam piped up before he could say anything.

"We're here to help in any way we can," the youngest Winchester replied.

"Not much you can do," Ireland told him, wiping tears from her eyes. "Drew and Steve are already dead. And Mark..." She trailed off, shaking her head. She took a sip from a travel mug in her hands.

"We can find who did this," Sam assured her.

Ireland glanced up at him. "Have you seen the bodies?" she asked. "It looks like Dracula and the Wolfman teamed up to kill my friends." She shook her head again. "If you believe that monster movie crap," she muttered through another sip of her coffee.

Sam and Dean looked at each other. Dean could only offer his brother a shrug.

"Bodies are still inside if you want to see for yourselves," Ireland said, her voice dull and distant.

"We'll be right back," Sam said.

The brothers headed into the cabin. As soon as they stepped inside, Dean felt his stomach lurch at the sight of the massacre. He put a hand to his mouth for a quick second before lowering it again. He had seen werewolf attacks countless times, but this was beyond anything he had ever seen before. Dean looked up at Sam who seemed like he was having a hard time keeping his breakfast down. It was too early for this. The sun wasn't even up yet.

"I've been away too long," Dean muttered as he swallowed down an urge.

"You and me both," Sam added.

Dean studied the crime scene. The windows were locked, there were no signs of forced entry. So, whoever did this had been someone they knew. Dean turned and left the cabin. Sam joined him outside. Dean walked up to the Impala and leaned up against it.

"You okay?" Sam asked.

"Some hunter I am," Dean mumbled, hanging his head, fighting not to get sick.

"You've been away from the game for a while, Dean," Sam told him. "You're going to be rusty."

Dean looked up at him. "So, what do you think happened?" he asked. "No forced entry. Innards missing. Drained of blood. Did a shifter, vamp and werewolf team up?"

Sam frowned. "Why do you say shifter?" he wanted to know.

"They knew their attacker," Dean said. "If it hadn't been someone they knew, there would be busted windows, busted doors. There's none of that."

Sam nodded. "Good point," he replied.

Dean gazed over the top of the Impala at agent O'Conner. As if sensing his eyes on her, Ireland turned and met his gaze. Dean drummed his fingers against the top of the car before pushing away and making his way over to where she was sitting.

"Something you need to know, agent Manson?" Ireland asked.

"Were you the only one your friends were expecting?" Dean questioned.

"Yes," Ireland answered truthfully. "However, if you're implying I had something to do with my friend's deaths, you might want to take a look at the back door."

"Why the back door?" Dean asked.

"Seeing is how it's hanging off the hinges, I would expect that was the point of entry," Ireland mused, taking a sip from her travel mug. "It was definitely the exit point."

Dean stood up a little straighter. He hadn't noticed the busted back door. Ireland slowly sipped from her mug. She stared at the man in front of her. He was so wet behind the ears it wasn't even funny. He clearly didn't know how to work a crime scene, or ask the proper questions. He just assumed that she had something to do with her colleagues' deaths. She may have been a monster in human clothing, but she hadn't killed anyone who hadn't posed a threat to her or her partner.

This guy was cute...to some extent. Especially when he was flustered. Ireland took another sip from her mug. She wondered what he really did for a living. He clearly wasn't with the FBI. The agent part of her wanted to slap the cuffs on him and haul him in for impersonating a federal agent, however the other part of her wanted to see if he could crack this case. She was curious to see if he had some special angle that the FBI and other law enforcement didn't.

Ireland took a deep, subtle breath. He had a unique scent. One she couldn't place. And his eyes. So burdened and heavy. She could only imagine what those dark green eyes had seen.

"Did you notice anything strange?" Dean asked.

"Besides my friend's mangled corpses?" Ireland asked back.

"Any sounds? Smells?" Dean quizzed.

Ireland broke eye contact as she thought back on the night's events. "Something ran into me," she replied after a moment.

"What something?" Dean wanted to know.

Ireland turned back to him. "It was dark, agent Manson, and I don't have night vision," she told him. "All I know is, it was a person. Whether it was male or female, I don't know."

Dean nodded. "Thank you for your time," he said.

As he turned to walk away, the wind changed direction and Ireland caught another whiff of the scent. Sulfur. He smelled of sulfur. Now, why would an agent, even a fake one, smell like sulfur? Ireland frowned in contemplation. That was interesting.

"Agent Manson," she called out.

Dean stopped and turned around. "Yeah?"

"Keep me in the loop?" Ireland requested. "My partner is still out there. If you find who did this, you may find Mark. I want to be there when you find him."

Dean smiled and nodded. "Will do, agent O'Conner," he promised.

Ireland smiled back. "Thank you."

She watched as he walked back to where his partner was still standing by their car. Ireland tilted her head to one side. Her father had owned a car similar to it. Only her father's Impala had been a year younger. Ireland took the last sip of her drink. '67 Chevy Impala. These agents had good taste in cars. Hopefully this wouldn't be the last time their paths crossed. There was a story behind the sulfur smell. And Ireland suspected it was one hell of a story.

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