Okay, you guys are literally the best. Thank you so much for being so kind with your reviews. Sometimes I tear up a little bit when I read them! Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Special shout out to acelticdream - thank you! I know I sound like a broken record but I can truly never thank you all, enough. You guys really inspire me to keep writing, which I know is the best way to improve and that, along with entertaining some people, is my ultimate goal.

I was reading through some older chapters and came across some really silly, stupid grammatical errors and bizarre mistakes that don't make sense (like when Liv is thankful she never actually met a real vampire, literally four chapters after she almost got killed by two of them… I felt like a real moron when I caught that one lol). If you guys see any of these, feel free to let me know in a review - I'd really appreciate it!

Holy moly, this turned out to be a long chapter! Soorrrrrry!


"Hey, it's your boyfriend," Dean said, dropping his cell phone in Liv's lap. "You wanna answer it?"

She shot him an exasperated glower and picked up the phone to check the caller ID, though she was already fairly certain she already knew who was calling. Sure enough, it was Garth.

"Really funny," she grumbled and tossed the phone back at him.

Dean grinned at her and flipped it open.

"Hello," he said, cheerfully.

"What's he talking about?" Sam asked, from the back of the car. He was sitting diagonally, with his long legs stretched across the entire seat.

"Nothing, don't worry about it," Liv said, bluntly. She had no intentions of explaining what happened between her and Garth; as far as she was concerned, it was ancient history and there was no reason to reexamine the embarrassing events.

"Who is it?" Sam prodded, when she refused to answer his original question. He leaned forward to listen in on Dean's telephone conversation.

"It's Garth," she said, waving him off. She, too, was trying to catch at least Dean's side of the call.

"Yeah, how you doing, Garth," Dean said.

Liv couldn't hear anything Garth was saying on the other end of the line but, when Dean asked where they should meet him, she realized they were likely going to team up for a case.

"Should be six or seven hours til we get there. Think you can hold out that long?" Dean said. He was quiet for a few seconds. "Alright," he eventually said. "See you."

"What was that all about," Liv asked, after he'd hung up the phone and chucked it onto the dashboard.

"Garth's got a situation in Junction City."

"Kansas?" Sam asked.

"What kind of situation?" Liv asked, warily.

"Yep, Junction City, Kansas. Guess he thought it was a ghost but the body count just keeps growing. He's stumped so I said we'd help out. Think you can keep your panties straight around him?" he asked, turning to Liv with an impish smirk.

"Screw you," Liv mumbled, crossing her arms.

"Alright," Sam said. He scooted forward to the edge of his seat. "Someone better tell me what's going on."

"Oh, you don't know?" Dean asked, blithely. He looked back over his shoulder at Sam and opened his eyes wide, feigning surprise.

Liv rolled her eyes and groaned. "Shut up, Dean."

"No, no, tell me," Sam insisted. He glanced eagerly back and forth between them.

Liv sighed and stared out the window. She couldn't tell if Dean's jealousy had returned and he was trying to make light of the situation or if he genuinely enjoyed teasing her for her indiscretion with Garth, all those months ago. "Just get it over with," she said.

"Remember when Liv left the cabin?" Dean asked. He still had that stupid leer on his face.

"You mean when you were an idiot and made her leave and she almost got killed" Sam said, his eyebrows cocked. "Hard to forget."

Dean scowled and shrugged off his brother's accusatory comment. "Yeah, well, before vampire Barbie showed up, Liv spent some time with our good friend, Garth," he said.

"What kinda time? Doing what?" Sam asked. He hooked his elbows over the seat and turned to Liv.

"He's a nice guy!" she practically shouted. She still didn't see what was so funny about her spending the night with Garth. He was kind and sweet and he was a good friend, to all of them.

"You know," Dean said, suggestively, wriggling his eyebrows up and down. "The old pants-off dance-off."

Sam nearly choked. "No way!"

"Yes, way," Dean said. "Knocking the boots. Making the beast with two backs. Riding the bull in the bedroom rodeo."

"Dean, shut up!" Liv shouted. She punched him, savagely, in his left bicep. The car veered into the opposite lane; thankfully, the road was empty, aside from their car.

"Hey!" he shouted, overcorrecting and swerving wildly into the shoulder of the road. The headlights shimmied over the road, then the culvert running parallel to it, and finally back to the road, again. "You trying to kill us?"

"What? Wait a second." Sam said, gasping for air. He could barely form intelligible words through his maniacal laughter. "Are you serious?"

"You're not funny," Liv said, glaring at Dean. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw that Sam was doubled over, still laughing uncontrollably. "It's not funny!" she shouted at him.

"I'm sorry," Dean said, in a patronizing tone. She didn't believe him, though. His smile was just too roguish. "You're right, baby; it's not funny. I'm sure dancing the goat's jig with that tall drink of cherry Kool-Aid was an earth shattering experience."

Liv refused to look at him or Sam, who still hadn't recovered from his fit of delirious joviality. Her cheeks burned with angry humiliation and she stared out the window, fuming internally.


"Am I coming in?" Liv asked. They had finally made it to Junction City and the plan was to meet Garth at the morgue, where they'd be checking out the victims.

Dean looked at Sam and shrugged. Sam nodded.

"Yeah, might as well," Sam said. "You have your Forensic Specialist badge?"

Liv pulled the card from the front pocket of her duffel bag and held it up. The name on the badge was N. Wilson; Dean had made the identification and, of course, had chosen the name. At least she'd talked him out of J. Jett. She still thought it was a little bit obvious but then, she thought all of their FBI aliases were obvious. As far as she knew, no one had ever caught on, though. At least the picture was good. She'd slicked all of her hair back into a neat bun for the photo and she actually looked like a professional.

"Awesome," Sam said. "Got your lab coat?"

Liv dug through her bag and pulled out the long, white jacket. It was a little wrinkled but it would do. She'd replaced the navy dress with a pair of simple, black trousers and a short sleeved, white, silk blouse. The heels remained part of her 'uniform' but she'd been practicing and could finally walk in them without stumbling over every third or fourth step.

"Alright, let's roll," Dean said, after they were all dressed and ready to go.

Liv grabbed the black, leather bound folder she kept her notes in and headed out the door.


The Geary County Medical Examiner was located near the Junction City General Hospital which turned out to be rather convenient for all of them; they intended to interview the doctors who examined the victims as well as the Medical Examiner who performed the autopsies. They learned from the lobby attendant in the hospital that both bodies had been moved to the Medical Examiner's cold storage the day before they arrived. Because they all needed to see the bodies, and Garth was meeting them there, they decided head for the ME to check out the victims before tracking down the doctors.

When they walked into the examination room, led by a coroner's assistant, Garth was already there, dressed in tan fatigues.

"Well, this is it," the coroner's assistant said. "Gentleman… Ma'am… this is Corporal Brown." He motioned toward Garth, who maintained an impressively stoic expression.

"Corporal James Brown," Garth said. "I'm shipping off to the AF manana. I'm here to pay respects to my cousin as I will not be able to attend the funeral."

"That must be terrible for your family," the coroner's assistant said. "Losing two brothers so fast."

Garth looked surprised by the information; Sam and Dean immediately adopted matching annoyed expressions. Garth had failed to mention that the two victims were brothers.

"Yeah," Garth said, sounding a little flummoxed. "Yeah, my aunt… she's uh… she's real broken up about it."

"Hey, doc," Sam interrupted. "Can we see both files, please?"

"I'd like to see the other body, as well," Liv said. One of the victims was laid out on a table in the middle of the room, covered in a white sheet.

"Mmhmm," the coroner's assistant said. The loud, familiar ringing of a cell phone echoed through the room and he quickly pulled it out of his pocket. "Ah," he said, handing the second file to Sam and motioning toward his phone. "My wife. I'll call someone down to pull out the other body. I'll be in my office."

"Great," Dean said, with a professional smile. The coroner's assistant left the room.

"You didn't say they were brothers," Sam said, vehemently, the instant they were alone in the room.

Garth shrugged. "Dude, I just found out about the other corpse and… started moving quick. I'm sucking up info as I go."

Liv pulled out her notebook and started jotting down the pertinent info from the victim's file. He was young, a teenager, with a high blood alcohol content and a huge, gaping wound in his torso. The photographs in the file were gruesome; some had been taken before the body was washed and prepped for autopsy. The boy's expression was twisted into an agonized grimace, the mouth open wide in a silent shriek. The edges of the wound were ragged and ripped with bits of flesh clinging to his shredded t-shirt.

"What, are you allergic to suits?" Dean asked, still addressing Garth.

"No, I just look good in a uniform," Garth answered, proudly. "What do you think, Liv?"

Rather than answer, Liv closed her eyes and drew a deep, calming breath. The case was quickly turning into a clusterfuck.

Sam rolled his eyes and scanned the second file. "Yep," he said. "Same cause of death."

"Can I see that?" Liv asked. Sam handed her the file and she laid them out, next to each other. The autopsy notes were nearly identical.

Sam walked over to one of the computers in the room and pulled up an internet browser.

"Right," Garth said. "Gutted at night in the woods, where legend says that the ghost of Jenny Greentree roams."

Liv snorted. "Jenny Greentree? Seriously?"

Dean pulled out his EMF detector and held it close to the body.

"Oh, uh, I already scanned for EM…" Garth trailed off as the hand held device began emitting a series of loud wails that intensified the closer Dean held it to the body. "…F. Oh. Um… I guess mine must be broken, again."

"Alright," Dean said, all joking aside. "I'm reading your mail. Ghost of Jenny… whatever?"

"Greentree," Garth jumped in. "That's just it; I torched her bones."

"Yeah, well, maybe she's got something still laying around."

Liv thought of Dean's father's journal, and all the spirit cases he'd recorded. She'd read over many of them and immediately thought the wounds in the boy's body were too vicious, too physically violent, to be an angry ghost.

"Highly doubtful," Garth said. "Chick was homeless."

"She lived in the woods?" Liv asked. Garth nodded.

Dean pulled down the sheet, to the corpse's waist. He frowned as he examined the massive wound. The poor kid was nearly split in two.

"Plus, is it me, or is this less evil spirt, more monster chow?" Garth asked. Liv silently agreed but realized how bad it would look if she sided with Garth, going against Dean. She kept her mouth shut and listened to them discuss the possibilities.

"A werewolf?" Dean asked.

"Except the witness said that whatever was chasing victim numero uno was invisible," Garth said.

Dean snickered. "Uh… so, invisible ghost werewolf?"

"Why'd you think I called for backup?" Garth said.

"Hey," Sam interrupted them, without looking up from the computer. "Any of you ever heard of Thighslapper Ale?"

Liv shook her head. "I'm not really a beer aficionado," she said. She pulled up the sheet to cover the boy's face. With both files in front of her, she doubted she actually needed to see the other victim. The photographs were fairly informative, and the wounds appeared to be extremely similar.

"Is that a stripper or a beverage?" Garth asked.

"Beverage for douchebags," Dean said.

"Number one microbrew in the Pacific Northwest," Sam read from the website.

"But we're in Kansas," Garth said.

Dean snorted, derisively. "Yeah, I rest my case. What's your point?"

"The owner is dad to the dead brothers," Sam said.

"Right," Garth said. "I'll can the uniform, go Fed. See you at the brewery in forty." He hurried out of the room, winking at Liv as he passed. She watched him leave with a mild smile.

"What about me?" Liv asked, already knowing the answer.

"You wait in the motel," Dean said, without looking up.


Liv moped around the tikki-themed motel room for the rest of the afternoon. She tried to relax by setting up her iPod to play through her most relaxing playlist - Fleetwood Mac, Otis Redding, Cat Stevens… When that didn't work, she settled into the awkwardly placed hot tub for a tranquil soak, but it didn't last long; she was just too keyed up. After she dried off and redressed, she plopped down on one of the beds with the old, battered journal and tried to match up the circumstances of the case with one that Sam and Dean's father had come across, in the past.

She quickly realized that it wouldn't be a matter of not finding anything plausible; on the contrary, there were far too many monsters that would kill and maim their victims in the same manner as the two brothers who had been murdered in the woods.

Her list started simply enough - werewolves, ghouls, morlocks, and shapeshifters were all primary and credible suspects. However, once she started on a third piece of paper and had never even heard of the creatures she was reading up on, such as the yeenaaldlooshii and the gowrow, she decided she was out of her league. She just didn't have the knowledge, or experience, to be able to rule out many of the possibilities.

Liv grabbed one of the pillows and hugged it close to her chest. She drew her legs up and reached out to flip the edge of the stiff, starchy comforter up and over herself. Since she couldn't be useful for the case, she decided to have a nap, instead. The room was chilly, but not cold, and the bed was actually soft and comfortable, for once. After only a few minutes of clearing her mind, Liv fell asleep to the music of Lucy Rose and Ray Lamontagne.

She knew it was a dream, even before the room distorted into a murky haze of red lights. The bathroom door was barely open, just a crack, and fluffy, cloudlike pillows of steam billowed out through the narrow opening and filled the room. Liv turned back, to check on Dean, but the bed was empty - he wasn't there.

"Sam?" Liv called. There was no answer, but those strange, subdued whimpers continued. "Sam, are you okay?"

She knew he was in the bathroom, and that he was in pain. On a deeper level, Liv understood that Sam and been cured, or rather, he'd been fixed, but somehow, the Sam in the bathroom was still hurting and desperately needed her help.

Behind her, the room darkened. The only light came from the bathroom. Liv whirled around and could see nothing beyond a few feet. She hurried toward the bathroom door and pushed it open, blinded by the stark brightness of the entirely white room.

He was there, just as she knew he would be, but he wasn't crying or huddled on the floor. He was standing in front of the bathroom sink, looking into the mirror. He was wearing the blue, plaid pajama pants; she thought they might be flannel, or perhaps fleece. His chest was still bare, as were his feet. His eyes were dry and his expression was passive.

"Sam…" Liv said, tiptoed across the tile. "I thought I heard…" She trailed off as he turned to face her.

The temperature of the bathroom was several degrees cooler than that of the bedroom. Her arms and legs were chilled by the drop and the tiles felt like ice beneath her feet.

She approached him, tentatively, unsure if he was truly alright or if she'd missed something; he'd been so good at masking his emotions, even as his mind fractured into a million pieces on the inside.

"Are you okay?" she asked him, as she approached the counter.

He didn't answer, but he smiled. It was a warm and comforting gesture; she felt waves of relief wash over her. He was really alright; even he couldn't fake that reassuring grin.

"I'm so glad you're doing better," she said. Because it was a dream, she wasn't concerned by his lack of participation in the conversation. "Really, I am."

She reached out to take his hand, which he offered willingly. It was so warm and heartening; the heat spread from her hand, up her arm and shoulder, and radiated across her chest. His fingers wrapped around her wrist and he pulled her closer, until their bodies were pressed together.

The dream sensations were so realistic; she could feel the soft, downy fabric of his pants against her thighs and lower abdomen. Her tank top was fairly short, and her panties were low riding bikinis , leaving a wide strip of bare midriff. She didn't even realize how frigid the air had felt until she was forced against the fiery warmth of his body.

His other arm slipped around her waist and secured her even more tightly against him.

"Sam…" she said, in a breathy whisper, but he silenced her by lowering his lips to hers.

She wanted to say no, to push him away, but it had been so cold and he was so warm and gentle. It was just an innocent kiss, nothing to create such a fuss over. After a few seconds, she didn't even want it to end.

Even as his hand traveled up her back, beneath her shirt, it never occurred to her to pull away. Even when his lips parted and his tongue slipped, so tenderly, into her mouth, gentle but determined, she didn't think it was actually inappropriate. When both of his arms slipped around her waist and easily lifted her up onto the edge of the counter, no warning bells rang out in her head. Instead, she wrapped her own arms around his neck and her legs around his narrow waist. She could feel him, rigid and thick, pressed firmly between her thighs, but she only tightened her knees around his hips and tangled her fingers into his hair, mashing their mouths together in a passionate collision of lips and teeth.

The tips of his fingers journeyed from her lower back, where they dug into her sensitive flesh, to just below her shoulder blades, where they danced around the side of her torso and brushed against the lower curves of her breasts.

Liv gasped and, in that second of separation, Sam clasped the bottom of her tank top and slipped it over her head. When their bodies reunited, his solid, warm chest felt like molten velvet against hers. Her palms traveled down his shoulders and back, caressing the long, firm bands of muscle that writhed and flexed beneath her touch. They continued down, beneath the elastic waistband of his flannel pants. Her fingernails furrowed into his satiny skin.

Sam lowered his lips to the hollow of her throat. The kisses he trailed along the length of her jaw and down to her collarbone were as light as cotton candy, and just as sweet. Liv tilted her head back and shuddered as he nipped and suckled at her neck. When he shifted to the other side of her throat, Liv lowered her chin and tilted her head to the side.

Liv let out a quiet, whispery moan, and opened her eyes the slightest bit. The room had grown darker; the fluorescent lights had been greatly subdued and the glaring whiteness of the bathroom was no longer so disorienting.

They were no longer alone, though. In the opposite corner, where the shadows were darkest, she could barely make out the form of a person. She couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman, but the presence chilled her blood.

"Sam," she whispered, but he didn't seem to hear. His fingers continued to roam over her body, and his lips worked as fervently as ever on her neck and shoulders.

The figure in the corner made no sound or movement; she couldn't make out any of its features, but she somehow knew it was watching them, intently.

"Sam," she said, again. She pulled away, still hoping to get his attention without alerting their unknown visitor. Sam didn't still didn't acknowledge her.

"Sam!" she finally shouted, giving up all pretenses of stealth.

"What?" he said, from across the room.

Liv sat up sharply. Her eyes were still blurry and her head felt like it was stuffed with wads of bubble wrap. Her neck cracked as she whirled around, scanning the room for the dark figure, but she wasn't in the bathroom. She was back in the motel room, surrounded by cheap tikki décor. Dean sat on the sofa, Sam was at the table with the laptop opened on the table in front of him, and Garth sat at the high counter, fiddling with his EMF detector. All three men were staring at her with widened eyes.

"You okay?" Dean asked. He hurried to the bed and sat beside her. "Bad dream?"

Liv nodded. Her fists clenched into two, tight balls and she blinked, rapidly, trying to clear the hazy fuzz from her vision. The blanket had fallen off of her and her arms were covered in millions of tiny goose bumps.

"Vampires?" Dean said. Concern was etched across his face.

"Oh… no…" Liv said. "It was… It was something else. I don't know what it was. Something bad."

Dean nodded and pulled her into his arms. She breathed in his scent and her emotional turmoil immediately vanished; relief cascaded throughout all of her senses. His strong arms tightened around her and she buried her face in his neck.

"You yelled for Sam," he said. "Was he there, in the dream?"

"Yeah," she said, tilting her head up to look at him. "It was pretty awful."

Dean frowned, sympathetically. He leaned down to kiss her; she was eager to feel his lips against hers. Awake, and in their company, Liv felt uncomfortable guilt over the content of her dream.

"I'm sorry, baby," Dean said, as they pulled apart. "Come sit with me, okay?"

Liv nodded and followed him to the small, futon sofa against the opposite wall. She dragged the crappy, motel comforter behind her and tucked it around her legs but she still felt chilled, by the below-average temperature as well as the disturbing dream. She slipped in beside him on the couch, resting her head on his solid shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around her.

"Afternoon delights?" Dean said, holding up a folded, standing brochure from the side table. "Really, Garth? Don't you think this place is a little, uh…"

"Uh, you want a nice hot tub after a day at the office. It's the little things. I feel sad for those brewery dudes. Spend your life beautifying the world through beer. First a partner offs himself," Garth said, as he continued to tinker with his EMF device.

Liv took the brochure from Dean and grinned. It advertised the hot tub, vibrating beds that cost a quarter for four minutes, and heart-shaped beds in their 'honeymoon suite'. She was starting to feel better and, when Dean leaned down to nuzzle her neck, she had all but forgotten the frightening, and unsettling, dream.

"Look, this one has mirrors above the bed," Dean said, almost whispering against her throat. He pointed at one of the pictures on the advertisement. The bed in the photo was covered with a zebra print blanket and the carpet beneath it was blood red.

Liv giggled. "Too bad he didn't reserve it. Guess we'll have to make do with the hot tub," she said, looking around the room. "This is literally the tackiest motel I've ever been in."

"Are you even listening to me?" Garth demanded. Liv realized she'd missed the last thing he said.

"Not really," Dean said, frankly.

Garth shook his head, woefully, and turned back to his EMF detector.

"According to this, Dale wasn't just a partner," Sam said. He sat at the table with is computer open in front of him. "He was also the brewmaster."

"Brewmaster?" Dean said, snidely.

"Is that like a kung fu master?" Liv asked. Dean shook his head, but smiled, graciously.

"He was widely considered a genius," Sam said, still staring intently at the computer screen.

"Alright, that's it," Dean said, as he stood up and stalked toward the kitchenette's tiny fridge.

As he passed by, the EMF detector Garth held starting flashing and blaring its warning beeps. Garth smacked it with the palm of his hand and shut it off.

"No microbrew is worth what was it… eight Food Magazine awards?" Dean continued. He handed a bottle to Sam and placed one on the counter beside Garth. "Beer's not food. It's whatever water is…"

He offered Liv a bottle but she shook her head; she'd never really developed a taste for beer.

"Hmm…" he said. "Thighslapper." After a short drink, his skeptical expression disappeared and was replaced by one of surprised pleasure. "Wow, that's actually awesome. Damn it, I'm not even mad anymore."

"Whoa, slow down, Garth," Liv said. He had tilted the beer bottle back and was chugging every drop. The last of it trickled into his mouth and he let out a loud burp.

"Wow," Dean said. "Party on, Garth."

"I don't even usually drink beer," Garth said, with a stupid smile. "It messes with my depth perception. Especially when I skinny-dip. Hey, you guys wanna hear a joke?"

Liv cocked an eyebrow and shook her head. She knew she was a lightweight when it came to alcohol but it would have taken at least three beers for her to reach his level of intoxication. In fact, on the infamous night of their unfortunate, drunken debauchery, she'd had seven beers while he'd only gotten down three.

"Listen to this," Sam said, ignoring Garth. "This is something interesting."

Garth interrupted him with a high pitched chuckle.

"Garth, are you drunk?" Sam asked him.

"Dude, I just drank a whole beer," Garth said, incredulously. "Of course, I'm drunk."

Dean stared at him, appalled, before turning back to Sam. "Something interesting?" he asked.

"Right," Sam said. "Uh…"

"Can I have some more Thighslapper?" Garth asked, suddenly.

"No," Sam said, immediately.

"No," Dean agreed. "Coffee for you, Tara Reid."

Garth snickered. "Coffee with Kahlua in it?"

They all ignored him, again.

"So," Sam began, for the third time. "It says that Dale actually left the company two weeks before he died. Or maybe he got pushed out 'cause he didn't want to sell. I mean, Baxter said the deal's been in the works for months.

"That would explain the widow," Dean said. "She's suing. Maybe Dale had a bone to pick, and he's still picking it."

"Right. So, maybe he's a spirito malo," Garth said.

Liv jumped when the radio scanner on the counter suddenly screeched to life. "Unit to McAnn residence. 698 Washburn," a voice said over the speaker.

"McAnn residence…" Sam said. "As in Jim McAnn?"

"As in, let's hope for their sake our spirto ain't made it out of the woods. Alright, let's go check it," Garth said.

"Uh, you two go," Sam said. I'm gonna go visit the widow."

Liv sighed. She knew what the newest update meant.

"I'll hang out here," she said, deciding to be diplomatic. She knew Dean would make her stay, anyway.

Dean walked over to the couch and set down his beer bottle on the side table.

"I won't be gone long," he promised. She could see the apprehension in his eyes; she hadn't had a bad dream in months but she knew it was something he always feared.

"I'm okay," she said, smiling up at him. "Scout's honor." She held up three fingers.

"Okay, baby," he said, and leaned down to kiss her. She banished the memory of dream-Sam from her mind and focused instead on Dean's lips, firm and insistent.

"Be careful," she said, already knowing he would be.

"Always am," he answered as he grabbed his jacket and headed out the door, after Sam and Garth.


About an hour after they left, Dean called to tell her to get ready; they were swinging by to pick her up before heading back to the brewery. Liv was anxious to get out of the motel room, and get more involved in the case.

When Garth's el Camino pulled up in the parking lot, she was already waiting outside for them. She slipped into the seat, beside Dean, and immediately smelled whiskey.

"I thought you guys went to check out the McAnn house. It smells like you've been at a bar," she said, wrinkling her nose.

"We did," Dean answered. "And now we have a theory."

"What's your theory?" she asked.

"Booze monster!" Dean blurted out. He took a long swallow from the flask he held before passing it to Liv.

"Eww," she said. "I'm not drinking that. Are you drunk?"

"Not yet," he said. "And, you have to drink it if you wanna help."

Liv grimaced and took a short sip from the flask. The whiskey was cheap and it burned all the way down her throat.

"Ugh…" she groaned.

Garth turned into the brewery's parking lot and pulled into the darkest spot, where the car would be at least partially obscured by the shadows.

"Alright," he said. "You two go find Sam. I'm gonna do a quick circle around the grounds to see who's still here." He jumped out of the car and took off, in a sprint. He rounded the corner of the building and disappeared from sight.

"Can I drink anything else but whiskey?" Liv whined. They both jumped out of the car when Sam pulled into the lot and parked beside them.

"Well, we're at a brewery so there's probably some beer around," he teased.

The three of them hurried across the lot to the side door. Sam had it open in seconds and they quickly edged inside. The building was dark and quiet; Liv didn't think anything was around, but they all tiptoed, nonetheless. Sam mentioned a bottle of sake that Dale had sent to his former partners, before he died. His theory was that the bottle might be cursed.

"Let's go back to McAnn's office," Dean suggested. "Maybe we'll find something there."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure the Japanese box the widow mentioned was in there."

Liv followed closely behind them; she'd never been inside the building, or any brewery, and it was full of huge, metal containers and random machinery. It didn't take long to reach the office, though. Once inside, Sam and Dean quickly found the box and examined it, closely.

"Here it is," Sam said. It sat on one of the decorative shelves behind the desk. Sam picked it up and moved it to the desk, where they could all check out its contents.

He unceremoniously lifted the lid and they all peered inside. There was another smaller, more intricately decorated box, and inside that was a bottle. It had already been opened; the wax seal was broken.

"Whoa, wait a second," Sam said. He picked up the bottle and turned it over in his hands. "Someone's been sampling the goods."

"Oh, you don't say?" Dean said, sarcastically. He looked around the room and his gaze eventually fell on a security camera. "Hey, check it out. God, I love paranoid people." He motioned toward the computer on McAnn's desk. "See if you can get on."

Sam settled into the desk chair and pulled up the computer's security program.

"Okay, uh…" He clicked a few buttons and, voila, the computer screen filled with an image of the three of them, standing in the office. "Huh!" he said. They all waved at the security camera, and their images on the screen waved a split second after.

"Alright," Sam continued. "So, first death was what… uh…. Four nights ago? Yeah?"

Dean nodded. "Mhmm, and Trevor McAnn. Patient zero."

"So, what did he let out of that bottle…?" Sam mused. He rewound the footage on the screen; they all watched Jim McAnn and Randy Baxter, the night janitor, and finally, the boy, Trevor. The video played rapidly, in reverse, but when Trevor showed up, Sam paused the program and began to play it, properly.

Liv picked up the ancient bottle and looked carefully at the writing. It was in Japanese, of course, and she was clueless as to what it might read. She turned back to the screen. The boy was opening the bottle and drinking from it.

"Nothing there," Sam said.

"That we can see," Dean added. He grabbed a bottle of alcohol from the liquor rack and dropped it on the table, along with an empty glass. "Looks like you're in luck, Liv! Lots to choose from."

"What, are you kidding me?" Sam said, incredulously.

"Tick tock," Dean answered, motioning toward the bottle. "Pour yourself a drink and here," he tossed Sam another glass. "One for her, too."

Sam filled both glasses and handed one to Liv, with an apologetic smile. She took a drink from her glass and winced. Whatever it was, it was smooth at first but the familiar burning sensation soon followed.

"Keep going!" Dean shouted, when Liv set down her glass. "Ugh…" He recapped the bottle he had just picked up and returned it to the shelf.

Liv grimaced and took another drink.

"I mean, can you even get drunk anymore? It's kind of like drinking a vitamin for you, right?" Sam said.

"Shut up," Dean responded. He kept opening different bottles and smelling them. "Holy…" He took a drink from one of them and coughed.

When Liv dropped her empty glass on the desk, Dean pointed at it and Sam immediately filled it. She wanted to be helpful, and it was better to just get it over with, so she practically poured it down her throat. The stuff wasn't cheap whiskey from Dean's flask; it was strong, and heady, and she could already feel it numbing her toes, and most of her inhibitions.

Sam and Dean both refilled their glasses and quickly drained them, wincing.

Dean dropped into the chair beside Sam and Liv settled herself into his lap, with her legs up on the desk, crossed at her ankles. He filled all three glasses, again, and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"I don't know how much more I can drink," she slurred, after knocking back her latest drink.

"It's okay," Sam said, chuckling. "I think you're drunk enough." He wasn't slurring his words, but he definitely sounded a more than a little buzzed.

She leaned back, against Dean's chest, and rested her head on his shoulder. Turning toward his face, she reached up and stroked his jawline.

"You're so hot," she said. "Isn't he just like, super-duper hot, Sam?"

Sam choked on the vodka he'd been about to swallow.

"Hear that?" Dean said, with a cocky grin. "She thinks I'm hot."

Sam shook his head and turned back to the computer screen. "I think we're ready to check it out again."

"Alright," Dean answered. "Party time. Rewind and go."

Sam replayed the footage, starting with Trevor opening the bottle. This time, they all saw the woman with long dark hair standing just a few feet away from the boy. She had appeared the instant he broke the seal on the bottle.

"Oh man!" Liv shouted. " What is that?! That's so messed up!" She goggled at the screen, her mouth hanging open, and nearly fell out of Dean's lap as she leaned forward to get a better view of the woman.

"So he… he let that thing out of the box. And it must have just followed him to the place with all the thingies," Sam rambled.

"Yes," Dean answered. "Yes. That's smart. I'm actually kind of drunk." He held up his empty glass and frowned, before grabbing the bottle and pouring in another hefty serving. "What's this? Me likey. I miss these talks."

He took another drink of the clear liquid but let it dribble out of his mouth when an older man burst into the room, startling all three of them.

"What the hell?!" the man shouted.

"Oh, hi!" Liv called out. She didn't recognize the man, but he looked like a friendly sort of person.

"Oh, man…" Dean groaned. "Turn it off, turn it off!" he hissed at Sam.

"FBI, huh?" the man said, angrily. "You know what? You can save it for the cops." He pulled out his cell phone and dialed. Liv could her it ringing from across the room.

"Whoa, whoa, Mr. Baxter," Sam began. "Listen, if… if you just let us explain, you might not-."

He was interrupted by the man shouting suddenly, and falling forward onto the ground. Behind him, Garth held the remote control to the Taser which was embedded in the man's back.

"What the hell did you do?" Liv shouted. She jumped up and ran over to Mr. Baxter. Kneeling beside him, she reached out, gingerly.

"Don't touch him!" Dean yelled. "Not until the… the… you know, the thing stops."

"Is he dead?!" she asked, frantically.

Garth shook his head and pushed a button on the controller. The man immediately stopped twitching and the staticky sound of electrical currents went silent.

"Nah," he said. "Just shocked. He'll wake up, pretty soon."

"We'd better get him out of here," Sam said. "Garth, can you get him back to the motel room?"

"What am I supposed to do with him after that?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know; he just can't stay here. If he wakes up and calls the police before we get this figured out, we won't be able to stop whatever is killing everything."

"Where are you guys going?" Garth asked. He disconnected the Taser from the hooks and slipped it into his jacket pocket.

Sam and Dean jumped up to help carry the man out to Garth's car. Liv carried the box, with the bottle of sake.

"We're gonna figure out what that writing on the box is," Dean grunted, struggling to keep the man's head from hitting the concrete floor or the brewing room.

It took several minutes to get the man into the passenger seat of Garth's el Camino. Liv kept watched, and prayed that the night janitor had already finished his shift.

"I'll go with Garth," she said, once the man was situated. There was just barely enough room for her, sandwiched in the middle.

"Okay," Dean said. "Get back to the motel and stay there. We'll be back as soon as we can."


Getting the man into the motel room, without anyone seeing, was infinitely harder than it had been getting him into the car. Liv tried to help but she thought she might have been more of a hindrance. For being so wiry, Garth was pretty damn strong. After almost half an hour of wrestling, they finally dumped the man into the hot tub, and Garth covered his head with a pillowcase.

"Alright, chica," Garth said, panting heavily. "I gotta go center myself. Keep an eye on the dude?"

Liv nodded and flopped back onto one of the beds. Her heart was racing and she'd decided she needed to get in more cardio on a regular basis.

"No problemo," she said, flashing him a peace sign, through heavy breaths.

She was still laid out on the bed when Sam and Dean got back.

"Coffee?" Dean asked. Liv jumped up and wrapped her fingers around the hot cup.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you…" she whispered. He'd remembered the cream and sugar.

"Where's Tonto?" Dean said.

Liv pointed toward the patio, where Garth was still 'centering himself' by practicing some very elaborate tai chi.

"Garth," Sam called out. "Where's Baxter?"

Liv cocked her head toward the hot tub, where the man was still unconscious. She had checked on him a few times and he seemed fine, just completely out.

"Dude's a lot heavier than he looks, FYI," Garth said. "But here, thought you might want this back." He handed Dean an EMF detector.

"You have the CEO of the douchiest microwbrew in the US gagged in your hot tub? You really think that's gonna end well?" Dean asked.

Liv shrugged. "What else were we supposed to do with him?"

"I'm not feeling the love," Garth said.

"Anyway, what did you find out?" Liv asked. Sam had carried in the box.

"Alright," he said. "Shojo. Let's see what we can see…" He opened up his laptop and started typing into the search box.

"What's shojo?" Garth asked.

Liv was curious, too. As far as she could remember, there'd been no mention of a shojo in John's journal, and she'd never heard her father or Bobby say anything about one either.

"Japanese booze monster," Dean said. Liv's spirits dropped when he pulled out a bottle of beer. The room had only recently steadied itself around her.

"I guess that would explain why you gotta be drunk to see it," Garth said. "Very poetic. Ooh, creepy…" He looked over Sam's shoulder to check out the website that had popped up.

Liv sat down across from them and rested her face in her hands.

"Okay," Sam said. "So, a shojo is said to roam where there's lots of alcohol. There's lore saying that, back in the old day, if you were plastered enough, you could see one skulking around the breweries in Japan."

"Yeah, but why is this one shredding brewer's kids?" Dean asked. He was refilling the old flask with cheap whiskey.

Sam looked more closely at the computer screen. "Apparently, you can harness the will of a shojo with the right spell box. Then you basically have an attack dog that you can sic on whatever sort of personal revenge mission you want."

"So Dale nabs one to punish his pals," Dean said, nodding.

"How come the two partners aren't dead yet? And how is it doing what he says if he's already dead?" Liv asked. It seemed to her that the shojo would have had many opportunities to take out Dale's enemies.

"Send the bottle, sooner or later it's popped open. Then you have a shojo that will do whatever Dale compelled it to do right here on the box. Seems like the instructions were already written before he died," Sam said.

"Wait, except it's not killing the people that screwed him over," Garth said.

"Well," Sam said. "Dale's widow said the company was his baby. So, if he really wanted his friends to feel what he felt…"

"He would take theirs," Dean finished for him. "Well, their kids. Jim's, anyways."

"And Baxter was the godfather," Sam said.

"Alright, skip to how do we gank it," Dean said.

"Good news," Sam said. "It is killable."

"But…" Liv said. She could tell by the tone of Sam's voice that it wouldn't be easy.

"But, only with a samurai sword consecrated with a Shinto blessing."

"Well, that's not a silver lining. Alright, the shojo already cleaned house, right? I mean, Marie's the last target standing so… I'll hit the pawn shops and look for the sword… and you two babysit Marie," Dean said. He pointed at Liv and Sam.

Liv jumped when Garth's EMF detector starting wailing.

"Yikes…" he said. "Sorry…"

"Don't worry about it," Dean said. He snatched the device out of Garth's hands and switched it off.

"Unless I've got nothing to be sorry for," Garth continued.

"Garth," Dean said in a warning tone. Liv looked up, her eyes narrowed.

"What's he talking about?" Sam asked.

"I'm concerned that Bobby might be haunting you," Garth said. "I brought it up to Dean, and he shot me down."

Liv frowned. Bobby had been cremated; he couldn't have become a restless spirit. Then, her eyes fell on the flask in front of Dean.

"Garth, leave it alone!" Dean said, heatedly.

"It's okay," Sam said. He didn't sound upset at all; in fact, he sounded like he'd been expecting the conversation.

"No, it's far from okay," Dean grumbled.

"I've already tried contacting Bobby," Sam said. Dean looked up at him, angry and surprised. "When that beer disappeared, I pulled out a talking board," Sam continued.

"Without me?" Dean demanded.

"Or me…" Liv muttered. Since Bobby's death, she'd been regularly plagued with bouts of guilt; she'd never had a chance to apologize to him. He'd been angry at her when he died.

"You know, I figured, why drag you guys in," Sam said. "When it's something I could just put to bed myself."

"And?" Dean asked.

"And, if he was there, I'd have told you," Sam said, resolutely. Liv didn't know if she felt relief or disappointment.

From the hot tub, Randy Baxter groaned and shifted positions.

"We'll talk about this later," Dean said. "You two follow Marie. Let me borrow your keys."


It didn't take long to track down McAnn's only surviving child, Marie. She was hanging out in a bar, downtown. Liv and Sam took seats at the counter and watched her through a mirror.

Liv asked for a glass of white wine and sipped it, cautiously. If she didn't need to be plastered, again, she didn't intend to be. Sam had whiskey but she noticed he also took tiny, careful drinks.

When his phone chirped, they both red the message from Dean together. He'd found the blade, and was having it 'blessed' in a back alley.

"Do you think it'll work?" Liv asked.

Sam shrugged. "Probably. And if it doesn't, we'll figure it out."

The both finished their drinks over the next twenty minutes and were starting on seconds when Sam's phone rang.

"Yeah," he said. Liv listened, quietly.

The conversation was short and Sam didn't get out more than a few words. When he hung up, he dropped two twenties on the bar and stepped out of his seat.

"We have to go," he said. "I guess the janitor is Baxter's kid and the shojo is after him."

"What? There's another kid?! Neither of us can drive," Liv insisted.

"Yeah, we'll have to get a cab," he answered.

They were lucky, though. Sam was able to commandeer a cab just outside of the bar. A few minutes later, they were running through the brewery, searching for Garth. They nearly ran into a young man in a janitor's uniform, who Sam seemed to recognize and Liv realized was the estranged son. Which meant the shojo was close by.

"Whoa, whoa, easy!" Sam said.

"We got to get out of here, man," the kid yelled. "It's here!"

"Where's Garth?" Liv shouted.

The kid kept moving. "Who?!"

"Garth!" Sam yelled.

"There was a guy," the kid stammered. "He got knocked out!"

"Okay," Sam said.

Liv caught movement in her peripheral vision and, when she turned, saw the shojo quickly approaching them. Sam must have seen it, too, because he pushed her and the janitor behind him.

"Stay behind me, stay behind me!" he said.

"Okay, okay," the kid said. "What, you can… you can see it?"

"Yeah," Sam answered. "I'm skunked. Just uh… fire exit, on three."

Liv whirled around, searching for the shojo, but it was nowhere in sight.

"Okay," the kid said.

"Alright," Sam said, but before they could start moving, the fire exit door slammed shut. "Okay, so much for that…"

Suddenly, the shojo was right in front of them. It lunged at Sam and sent him flying into the wall. He fell to the ground, knocked out. The plaster above him was cracked and crumbled around him.

"Oh, shit…" Liv said. The shojo stared right at her, only a few feet away. She could see its empty, black eyes. It bared its teeth and lurched toward her. Behind her, the janitor shouted

"Get back!" Dean shouted. Liv didn't know where he'd come from but he was suddenly in front of her, between her and the shojo. She hurried to Sam and crouched beside him; he was breathing but unconscious.

"I think he's alright," she called out to Dean, who was wildly swinging a long, narrow sword. Liv realized he wasn't intoxicated; he couldn't see the shojo. "Watch out!" she yelled as it materialized in front of him. It struck him and he fell to the ground. The sword clattered away from him, out of his reach.

"Dean, are you okay?" Liv shouted. She was about to run for the sword when it inexplicably slid across the floor, into Dean's hand. Liv's mouth formed a round circle of shock, but didn't have time to try and sort out the physics of it.

"I'm fine; stay with Sammy!" he yelled back. "Where is it?!"

Sam raised his head as Dean struggled to his feet.

"Swing right!" Sam shouted.

Dean swung the sword to the right, but the shojo was on his left.

"My right…" Sam said.

Dean continued to swing as Sam and Liv shouted directions but the shojo ducked and turned away from the sword. It was too slow, though, and with one powerful thrust, Dean plunged the sword into its abdomen. It appeared in front of him, its expression shocked and angry. It let out a resounding, earsplitting shriek and evaporated. The sword fell to the ground.

"You okay?" Dean asked the janitor.

"I'm alive, yeah," he answered.

"Sam?" Dean said, turning to his brother. Liv was helping Sam to his feet.

"Yeah," Sam said, flashing a thumbs up.

"Where's Garth?" Dean asked.

"Well, he's… he's over this way," the janitor said, motioning toward a large window that had been shattered. Even the frame was broken and jutted out at odd angles.

"Would you go get him?" Dean asked.

"Alright," the janitor said. He and Sam hurried through the broken window to where Garth lay, in a heap. Liv skipped after them.

"What'd I miss?" Garth asked, groggily, as they stood him on his feet.


"You sure you guys don't want to hang out?" Garth asked, the next day. They had checked out of the motel and were carrying out their bags to their respective vehicles..

"Tempting," Dean said. "But, uh... we better roll," Dean answered.

"Alright, well…" Garth began. He surprised Dean with a big, bear hug, and then moved on to Liv. Dean cleared his throat when the embrace lasted a few seconds longer than was typically considered normal. "Call me anytime," Garth said, as he released her from his grasp.

"Alright," Dean said.

"And you, Sam," Garth said, holding out a hand.

"Yeah…" Sam said. They shook but before they let go, Garth had drawn Sam in and wrapped his long arms around him.

"Uh… yeah. Thanks, Garth," Sam said awkwardly.

"Sayonara, kemosabes," Garth called out. He pointed at the old, battered car they'd been traveling in. "Nice ride."

He dropped into the driver's seat of his own el Camino and started the engine. Loud music reverberated out the windows and he pulled away.

"You're right," Sam said. "He grows on you."

The three of them waved goodbye as he turned right, out of the parking lot.

"Alright," Sam said. "So, let's talk about it."

"What are we talking about?" Liv asked. She crawled into the back seat of the car.

"Yeah, about what?' Dean said. "Oh, the talking board? That's fine. I get it, I guess."

"No, not that," Sam said. "Look, I heard you."

"Heard what?" Liv asked.

"What happened in the brewery, Dean?" Sam asked.

"Nothing, it was uh… it was just my imagination," Dean said.

Liv glanced back and forth between the two of them. She didn't know what either of them were talking about.

The two of them headed back into the motel room to get the rest of their stuff. Liv jumped out of the car and ran after them.

"I just want you to be straight with me," Sam was saying, as she stepped into the room.

Dean let out an exasperated sigh. "The blade was across the room and then it was in my hand. And then my beer drank itself. Oh, and then that page magically appeared on the bed. And… and then Bobby's book fell down and out popped the number of the guy who found Cas. Nothing, I'm sure."

"Clearly," Sam said.

"Hey, why didn't you tell me about any of this?" Liv demanded.

"Listen, babe, I'm sorry but I didn't know what to think. I didn't want you to get upset, either of you," Dean said.

"You know what I think, Dean? I think that regular people, they see ones they lost everywhere, too," Sam said.

"Yeah, freakin' ghosts!" Dean shouted.

"Or they just miss them a lot. I mean, they see a face in a crowd, we see a book falling off the table," Sam said. "Same thing, Dean. I did the talking board, I ran plenty of EMF. When that beer went poof, I went a little nuts."

"Yeah, but why didn't you tell us?" Liv asked. "Why am I just hearing this now, from both of you?"

"Like I said, little nuts at the time," Sam said, frowning.

"Alright, well, if it wasn't Bobby, then what jedi'd that sword into my hand?" Dean asked.

Sam sighed. "The shojo slammed the door from across the room. Maybe it was trying to grab the sword, too."

It didn't ring right in Liv's opinion, but she didn't argue.

Dean cleared his throat. "Right, right. I mean, if it was Bobby, he would let us know. I mean, who knows more about being a ghost that Bobby? Instant Swayze, right?"

"Exactly," Sam said.

"Okay. Okay, you… so your theory is that - that we're practically regular people about something for once," Dean said, nodding his head. "Alright. Well, you guys wanna grab some brunch and some brews?"

Liv made a disgusted face.

"Ugh, no," Sam said. "I'm so hung over. Let's just hit the road."

"Yeah, if I put anything in my stomach, I'm just gonna puke it up," Liv added.

"Alright," Dean said. They gathered up the rest of the bags and stepped outside.

A few minutes later, they were in the car, about to leave. Dean paused and jumped out.

"Hang on," he said, and hurried back into the motel room.

Liv wanted to talk more about Bobby, but not with Sam or Dean. She didn't know if they really believed what Sam was saying, but she certainly didn't. It didn't seem right. The blade… all the strange things that Dean mentioned… She wasn't convinced, but she wanted to think it over for a while before bringing it up, again.