"Hello?"

"This Jackson Farrell?" Bobby questions into the phone.

"Depends on who's asking…" the hesitant man answers back.

"I'm a friend of Rufus Turner's and if that's how you answer the phone, clearly so are you," Bobby comments with the reluctant way the man conducts the conversation. "The name's Bobby Singer."

"Bobby Singer… yeah. You're out in the Midwest, right?" Jackson questions.

"I am."

"I've heard of you. You're the guy who helps everyone out, vouches for them with the authorities and whatnot. And you know everything about, well, everything, ha."

"Sounds about right," Bobby quickly answers, hoping to cut through the small talk, even if it was flattering. "Look, Rufus gave me this number. Said you might be able to help me out."

"Depends," Jackson says. "You a friend of his?"

"I guess that's what you'd call it," Bobby answers. "Though I consider our friendship as more of a necessary evil."

"Yeah, you sure know Rufus alright," Jackson laughs. "What can I do you for, Bobby?"

"I got a couple hunters snowed in south of Boston. Can't get ahold of 'em and was lookin' for someone who might be able to get there and check it out for me."

"We're all snowed it, Bobby," Jackson explains. "Nothing can be done about it, but I'm sure they're ok."

"No, they're not," Bobby calmly rebuts, worried he'll spook the hunter. "Something wrong, our kinda wrong."

"I don't know, Bobby," Jackson answers with more hesitation. "This storm is pretty bad and that's at least an hour and a half away sans snow. Not sure I can make it that far."

"It's a lot to ask of a stranger, I know, but these two are family to me. Known Dean my whole life, since he was just a kid. He's practically my son."

"Dean? Winchester?" Jackson perks up. "He one of the hunters you talking about?"

"Yeah, lucky guess," Bobby cautiously responds. "I'm hopin' you ain't someone Dean's pissed off in the past. He tends to do that sometimes."

"No," Jackson laughs. "Not at all. It's quite the opposite, actually. The kid saved my life. I owe him big time."

"Well I'd like to cash in the favor if you don't mind…"


"So," she says as she walks into the living room, handing Dean a glass of whiskey and sitting down on the other end of the couch with her glass of wine. The demon's thrown on one of Lizzy's favorite vintage t-shirts; the black Van Halen one with the neck cut wide open. She paired it with only some red cotton boyshort panties and after taking a good look, Dean wasn't complaining about her choice in attire. "I'm ready. Let's talk." She turns sideways, plopping her feet heavily into his lap.

Dean pauses for a moment, feeling strange with the abrupt way she attempts to start the heavy conversation. Not like her at all.

"Uh, ok," he says while taking in her appearance further. "What's with the make up?"

"Oh, you like it?" she smiles to him while blinking rapidly. "I went for something new today."

"Yeah, I like it," Dean lies. She has thick, dark black eyeliner on, something she never normally does. He honestly prefers the more natural version of her. "Just not used to it yet I guess. And normally you don't bother with the stuff if you aren't going anywhere."

Lizzy raises her free hand out to the side and shrugs her shoulders as if to say oh well.

"Huh," Dean responds, giving her another once over. Her body language seemed off too. "L, what's going on?"

"What do you mean?" Lizzy's voice asks, feigning ignorance while taking a sip of her red wine.

"The way you're acting, the makeup, the wine. So not like you. You sure you're feeling ok?"

"Feeling great, Hot Shot," she smiles without parting her lips. "I just felt like putting on makeup. And, believe it or not, I do actually like wine. I've just never drank it in front of you before."

"Huh," Dean wonders out loud again, still slightly uncomfortable but tentatively accepting her explanations. "Alright."

"So what's going on with Sam?" she asks, abruptly changing the subject.

"Where the fuck do I begin?" Dean says while washing a hand down his face.

"You could begin with why it is you two are all kinds of off lately," she says. "And you could tell me what's been making Sam so upset that he'd be nervous to talk to me."

"He's nervous to talk to you?" Dean asks her with obvious interest.

"Oh yeah," she confirms. "Last few times I've talked to him it was rough going. He's hiding something.

"Sounds about right," Dean answers back.

"So what is it already!" she quickly asks.

Dean looks at her suspiciously, her hasty attitude seeming weird. "I'm not sure I should tell you."

"It's ok, honey. I can handle it." Sitting up, she runs a reassuring hand down Dean's arm and he shudders at the unfamiliar touch.

"Not this one," Dean warns.

"Oh please, I've handled everything you've all dumped on me in the past."

"Dumped on you?" Dean questions with her off word choice. He never thought she considered his being honest with her dumping.

"I mean, please," she continues. "I took Sam's demon blood in stride, just like I did the fact that you two were hanging out with Ruby. Shit, I didn't even blink about the forty years in hell. Trust me, I can handle it."

Dean shakes his head and sighs heavily with the confirmation he was waiting for. "I knew it," he states simply, the disappointment clearly in his voice. He lowers his head and closes his eyes, unprepared for everything that's about to go down.

"Knew what?" she asks as she takes a big sip of wine and watches as he turns to look at her with worry in his expression.

"Christo," Dean says and watches in horror when Lizzy's eyes quickly flash black as she flinches at the name. "I fucking knew it!"

Dean's hand, which had reached into the side of the couch between the arm and cushion, pulls out a silver flask and he swings his arm through the air, holy water flying and splashing across Lizzy's face.

"Ah!" she screams in pain as the water sizzles and steams on her skin.

"I never told L about how long I was in hell!" Dean yells, flask held out in front of him as he stands, "Get the fuck out of her! Now!"

She laughs something evil as she wipes her forearm across her face. "Took you long enough, Dean," she comments as her hand waves across the air, sending him careening through the air and crashing into the wall of the living room.

"Shit!" he shouts as he crumples to the floor, his head already swimming from the impact. He groans as the pain radiates from everywhere.

"Stay there," she warns sternly from her seat on the couch. "If you know what's good for you, that is." She grins at the sight. Dean Winchester, writhing in pain on the floor and undoubtedly panicking at the fact they the woman he loves is no longer herself. She sips her wine and takes in her accomplishment.

"L, if you can hear me, I'm sorry!" Dean struggles out as he turns himself over and lies on his back. "I should have known sooner. I should have listened to Castiel."

"Shut up," she bitingly directs, finally getting up from her seat and placing her glass on the coffee table. "I thought you were going to be a much bigger fight than this." She stands over him, looking down at his pathetic frame. "Imagine my disappointment when the clearly over-hyped Dean Winchester turns out to be a pussy with a case of puppy love."

"Let her go," Dean growls with anger, his left arm reaching stealthfully into his back pocket all the while. "I don't know what you want, but you better let her go."

"Wow, you are just completely proving my point perfectly, aren't you?" Lizzy's voice says with utter let down, her hands poised at her hips. "It's ridiculous that so many of you humans let a little thing like love turn you into wimpy, deplorable messes. I've seen it happen literally millions of times."

"Then clearly you've never had the pleasure, sister," Dean remarks, trying to keep her talking while formulating a plan. He's become quite good at this over the years, having found a good use for that smart ass wit of his.

Her eyes go black again with his quip and she's down to his level unnaturally quickly. She grabs him by the longer hair at the top of his head and yanks him up to her. Dean wises up and says nothing now, just stares into the black eyes that are no longer the warm chestnut color he adores.

"Love is a horrific concept," she grits through Lizzy's clenched jaw. "A bunch of shitting, pissing, gluttonous animals wandering around the Earth blindly until they bump into another animal by chance. Then, in the quest to find meaning and purpose in their insignificant, accidental lives, they convince themselves that they were meant for each other, that they were soul mates. What a crock of shit. Actual soul mates are about as common as geese that crap golden eggs."

"Sounds to me like someone never got asked to prom," Dean pokes and she lets her grip on him go with a shove, Dean's head thudding to the floor loudly and making him groan once more. Moving quickly, he whips his hand from his back pocket, pulling another flask from it and sending a stream of holy water her way once again. The demon recoils with the burn as Dean quickly takes the opportunity to reach for the canister of rock salt behind the couch. He splashes her once more to ensuring she'll be preoccupied enough. Popping the top of the canister, he runs into the hallway and pours a thick salt line across the doorway of the living room.

"Ha!" he shouts, overly proud of his own quick thinking. "You're stuck, you evil son of a bitch! The windows are salted! No way out!"

She turns quickly to face him as the last of the water steams off of her face. "Like this is enough to hold me," she scoffs at the thought. "I already got in here, didn't I? A little salt can't hold me back, you unbelievable imbecile."

"It'll hold you long enough," Dean tells her. "Hang on in there, L! Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…"

"You little shit," the demon loudly complains as she dives onto her hands and knees at the doorway, lowering her head to the floor just before the salt line.

"Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii…"

She coughs a few times with the words, feeling her control being broken, but steadies herself and inhales deeply.

"Omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica…" Dean keeps reciting from memory, but gets very concerned when he hears the demon begin speaking her own Latin words.

"Potentiae mater natura factus mea, frigidus aer per me cum vires incognita," she says and blows on the salt line. The air comes out of Lizzy's pursed lips foggy, white and frigid. He can feel the coldness on his sock-clad feet and the salt grains begin scattering. Once the line is sufficiently broken he takes a half step back, salt canister held in front of him, and grows concerned. This demon is a little more than he's prepared to handle.

She stands up with ire written deeply into Lizzy's face as she steps past the scattered line. "Hope you don't underestimate me like that again, Hot Shot," she cautions as she once again waves her hand and sends him flying, this time head first into the hallway wall. After leaving an impressive dent, he hits the floor and doesn't move, his lifeless body twisted in a heap.

"What a pain in my ass… or Lizzy's rather, ha," she comments as she gets to work securing him so that she get down to business. "I fucking hate hunters."


"So I got someone headed to Lizzy's apartment," Bobby informs Sam over the phone. He's searching through his library for anything that might help explain more about this demon they're dealing with.

"Who?" Sam questions, flying down the highway at speeds he's never driven before. Better be someone good if he plans of going head first at a demon wearing Lizzy. That won't be a picnic for sure.

"A guy out in Rhode Island that Rufus knew. Said he was a good hunter and he's bringing his partner with him." Bobby pulls out an oversized book, dust covered and faded. His demonic dictionary as he likes to call it. Been a while since he's needed this bad boy.

"Ok," Sam responds with trepidation. He isn't totally comfortable with letting just any hunters walk into that situation. It makes them all responsible for anything that happens to the people he's never met and it doesn't sit well with Sam.

"I know it ain't great, but it's all we got for now," Bobby reminds Sam. He hears the younger hunter sigh into the phone and it makes him pause before telling him anything more. His solitary drive has surely been hard enough without added issues.

"You find anything more on this demon?" Sam asks, dashing Bobby's hopes of keeping it quiet any longer.

"Yeah. Rufus was actually helpful for once. Told me a pretty important detail about our black-eyed bastard." He flips through the pages quickly, having grown very familiar with the volume over the years. He finds the page he's looking for in no time.

"Good. What is it?"

"Congratulations, it's a girl," Bobby tells him.

"The demon in Lizzy is female?" Sam asks as his heart drops.

"Sure is," Bobby says to him. "Sam, I think it's Laraje. Makes too much damn sense not to be."

"Fuck!" Sam shouts out, his hand coming down on the steering wheel with frustration. "At least now we can try to figure out what it wants."

"Give me some more time and I'll see what I can see," Bobby tells him. "How far out are ya'?"

"'Bout six and a half more hours not counting the weather," Sam says in a low tone. "Bobby, this is so fucking bad."

"No it ain't," Bobby lies sternly, his false sense of strength being the only thing grounding Sam.

"What if…"

"Knock it off with the damned what ifs!" Bobby nearly shouts into the phone. "Like I said before, Dean's been around a while and he knows Lizzy as well as he knows you, damn it. He'll be fine."

"God, I hope so," Sam sighs heavily, eyes weary and back aching with his unmoving position.