They were on their way to the El Paso Police Department where Detective Manuel Arias worked. He was the investigating detective working Isabella Louis' case. Dean was going over their cover again as he drove across the city. They'd done this thousands of times but still Dean always took it incredibly seriously. He treated it like it was the first time.

Sam dutifully repeated their story back to Dean because he knew it was important him. He knew that they'd already gone over it when they arrived last night and again while they were having a few drinks at that bar, but this was what made their solve rate on cases so high – Dean's attention to detail.

His mind wandered back to last night. The two of them had found a quiet seat in that bar and just talked and had a few drinks. They didn't talk about anything major. They discussed the case and let their conversation flow randomly. It had felt good. Maybe they could do it again when this case was over.

Most times Dean was out to get laid so he was barely present. It was nice to have his attention for a change.

Parking the Impala on the street, they walked into the station. "State your business," The officer at the desk greeted them with barely any emotion or inflection. In sync, they pulled out their fake badges and held it up so he could see.

"Agents Plant and Page, FBI," Dean said confidently. He watched as the previously bored officer stood up straighter.

"What can I do for Uncle Sam?"

"We're looking into the disappearance of Isabella Louis. I believe that Detective Arias was the investigating officer?" Sam joined.

"The FBI is interested in the disappearance of one woman? Don't the guys in Washington have more important things to do?"

"We are not at liberty to discuss the details of our investigation," Sam answered in an abrupt manner. Immediately the officer's hackles went up and he looked like he would like nothing more than to stone wall them. Sometimes Sam forgot that they weren't actually FBI agents. Dean gave him a look that said rein in the douche and turned to the officer.

"Look," he quickly glanced at the nameplate. "Officer Evans. We just go where they send us. I got a boss like you and I don't ask questions." He hoped to get the officer back on their side. He sighed mentally when the man relaxed again. Looking over his shoulders, he called out to a large Hispanic man in a suit. "That's Detective Arias. He'll help you."

They spent over two hours going over the details of Isabella's disappearance and the few other cases that had landed in that station. Dean was relentless. He wouldn't let any details go and seeing how driven he was, Detective Arias did everything in his power to help.

They exited the station with a more complete story. Isabella was days away from her wedding when she was captured. At first the detective had thought she might be a runaway bride but there was evidence of force in and around her car. He firmly believed that she was taken against her will. Unfortunately the trail ended not far from the scene and the police had nothing to go on.

Sam and Dean walked briskly to the Impala parked on the street. Their next stop was Isabella's fiance. The plan was to visit the two most recent victims together and divide the other victims between them to tackle over the next several days.

"So? What do you think?" Dean asked, the Impala roaring aggressively as it took off down the road.

"I don't know." He looked out the window and lapsed into silence. Maybe if the police knew about what was really going on in their city they might have found a clue, they would have otherwise dismissed.

They pulled up in front of Luke Jacobson's house, and got out of the car. Together they walked up the path leading to the porch. The intricate stonework that made the path was being slowly reclaimed by nature. In unison, they climbed the stairs and Dean knocked on the door.

Standing slightly behind his brother, Sam made a face of distaste as he saw the state of Mr Jacobson's porch. The mail box was filled with flyers and letters and there were several unclaimed newspapers just lying in disarray. The floor was covered in dust and leaves and some of those weeds were starting to take the porch too. It was a pretty nice neighborhood. He was surprised no one had said anything.

After waiting a few moments, they knocked again. Dean tried to discreetly peak into the windows but everything was blocked out by the curtains. Still no answer. They gave each other a look and making sure their surroundings were clear, Sam pulled out his lock pick. Using Dean as a shield, he picked the lock and pushed the door open.

Immediately they were assaulted with the horrible odor of a dead body. Using their jacket to cover their faces, they entered the home.

"Damn it," Dean said angrily. Luke Jacobson was sitting in a chair in what appeared to be a living room. Pills and and their bottle scattered haphazardly on the floor around him, vomit stains on his face and clothes.

He'd been dead for a while. He looked like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Sam was already calling 911 as Dean looked around the room for clues.

They unlocked their motel room tiredly. "Well that was a shit show," Dean said in frustration, pulling his tie off. Sam was already grabbing a towel and heading to the bathroom. He could still smell the dead funk on him.

"Tell me about it."

He shut the bathroom door on his brother's protesting face. Dean knew the rules. Little brothers always got first showers. Shedding his clothes on the floor carelessly, Sam stepped into the shower before the water even had a chance to warm up. He just wanted the stench gone. Bending so he could get his head under shower-head, he let the water wash the day off him.

After calling the police, they'd exited the home, re-locked the door and stood waiting by the Impala. Not long after, the sirens could be heard as emergency first responders arrived, Detective Arias among them. As Luke Jacobson was wheeled out of his house in a body bag, they'd given their statement, adjusted in their favor.

They'd gone to Mr Jacobson's house to conduct an interview and noticed the smell through the door and immediately called 911. This, Sam said in his sympathetic, "trust me. I'm harmless" voice.

They were at the crime scene all day helping Detective Arias with his investigation at his request. Apparently their attention to detail earlier that day really struck a cord with him and he was looking at Dean like he knew everything, nodding seriously at anything he said. Sam secretly thought that maybe Detective Arias might want to be an FBI agent himself.

It was clear that Mr Jacobson had committed suicide. But having unfettered access to the crime scene – legally, they searched the house thoroughly. He didn't leave a note, his fridge was full. It hadn't appeared that he'd left the house in a while. It was like he just stopped caring. The underlying cause seemed to be his missing fiance.

"Think we'll have better luck tomorrow?" Dean asked, causing Sam to jump as water pelted his hard body. Pulling the curtains back so he could yell at his brother for entering the bathroom when the door was closed, he paused. Dean was not in the bathroom. In fact the door was still firmly shut. Talk about thin walls. He could have sworn Dean was right there.

"We better. For the victim's sake," he said softly, assuming Dean would hear him.

"Yea," Dean agreed. "Alright we'll tackle the kid's parents and then circle back to Jacobson's to work on his neighbors. Now hurry up in there. I can taste dead in my mouth."

One theme was recurring no matter who they talked to. The victim was deeply loved. When they visited the Masons' hotel, Mr. Mason quietly let them in. His wife was so distraught that she was bed ridden.

They had a difficult time having a child. After losing hope, success came at a time when it should have been impossible. He was their miracle child and his mother doted on him. Mr. Mason was scared of what would happen if their son wasn't found alive.

Giving him their cards, they asked him to call if he thought of anything new. The boys left the Masons' with a growing sense of dread which did not lessen after talking to several of Alex Jacobson's neighbors.

One of them, a Susie Lambert, claimed to be Isabella's best friend and she was very chatty. She told them of the epic love between Luke and Isabella. How they had fallen in love and were just days away from their Caribbean wedding.

Laughing through tears, she told them how Isabella had been terrified because both she and Luke had to get vaccinated for their trip but Isabella had a deathly, paralyzing fear of needles. She loved Luke so much that she had willingly faced that fear. They both remembered briefly seeing two immunization reports lying on the dresser in Jacobson's room. They nodded.

Friends and family of victims always wanted to share stories about the victim so they both listened sympathetically.

She told them about her last conversation with Luke. He had said that he felt in his heart that Isabella was dead. It didn't surprise her that Luke would want to be with his fiance. They were soulmates after all. Her only regret was that she hadn't thought to get him help. The signs were there and now he was also gone.

They went back to their motel as the sun was setting. Both were in a somber mood and Sam immediately pulled out his laptop. He wanted to go through the list of Laelia victims twenty years ago. He had a hunch that he needed to verify. He needed to see if anyone close to the victim ended up in a similar state to Mrs. Mason or Luke Jacobson.

All monsters had patterns they followed. They always picked their victims because they met some specific criteria. For werewolves, that was having a human heart. For vampires, human blood. Those Christmas deities they fought years ago picked their victims based on who had the Meadowsweet hanging in their home. The same rules would apply to this monster.

This case was becoming more serious than they had originally predicted. The original twenty victims was turning into a bigger list. The others may not have been kidnapped along with the victims but they were casualties nonetheless.

Using that as a guideline, Sam started to sieve through the missing persons reports. They needed to find the pattern.

"I need a beer," Dean said, drained. "You coming?"

Sam waved him off, "No go ahead." He had work to do. Where before their confirmed list of victims twenty years ago had been meager, he was now sure that he would be able to find more.

About ten minutes later, the door opened to reveal Dean holding a case of beer. Plopping the case down by the table, he grabbed his laptop and sat opposite Sam. He grabbed two bottles, placed one near Sam and opened one. Taking a long gulp from his bottle, he gave Sam an expectant look. "So what are we looking for?"

"I thought you were going to the bar," Sam said instead of answering.

"And leave you with all the fun? So?" he asked again.

Shrugging, Sam emailed him a list. "Alright so I've emailed you half the list of missing victims that were never found during the cycle twenty years ago. Some of them had the Laelia flower mentioned in their reports, but most didn't. We're looking to see if anything similar to the Masons or Jacobson happened to someone close to them after they went missing. It won't guarantee that that person was chosen by Yantho but it will give us a bigger list of witnesses and possible victims–"

"And we can easier find a pattern," Dean finished. "Sammy you're a genius." Sam blushed and bowed his head to hide it.

The next day, they split up. The list was too big to efficiently tackle together. Dean dropped Sam off at a car rental place and they agreed to regroup later in the day to compare notes.

It was a grueling task but after talking to several persons who knew victims from twenty years ago, Dean finally had a breakthrough, but he had to verify one thing that would cinch it for him.

Knocking on the door of the Masons, he wasn't surprised that the father answered looking even more worn down.

"Agent Plant?" He asked hopefully.

"I'm sorry to bother you, I just have one question for you."

Deflating slightly, he invited Dean in and waited. He was slowly losing hope. More and more he was waiting for an officer to come knocking on his door to tell him they found his son's body.

"Did your son happen to visit a hospital or medical center recently?"

"Yes, about two months ago. He broke his arm around Christmas doing stupid stuff with his friends. His mom and I drove him to Providence Memorial Hospital ourselves. She was so upset, crying and babying him even though he kept telling her he was fine."

Nodding, Dean said, "That's all I needed. Thank you for your time," and made for the door.

"Wait!" Mr Mason called. "What does the hospital have to do with my son?"

"Probably nothing, I just want to make sure that no stone is left unturned," and he exited their hotel room.

It was just as he thought. That hospital was somehow involved. Several of the victims twenty years ago had visited there in the time leading up to their disappearance. Isabella also got her vaccinations there and Henry got his cast.

Getting into the Impala, he headed to the hospital.

Heading outside the latest witness' house, Sam sighed in frustration. They weren't giving him anything. He got inside his rental and checked his phone. He had an assortment of texts from hunters and friends and one missed call from Dean a little over an hour ago. Clicking the voice mail icon, he listened to the message, the icy grip of panic slowly crawling up his spine.

"Sam," Dean's familiar voice whispered urgently over the speaker. "Found something. Can't talk. Text you." He'd just looked at his messages. He didn't have a message from Dean.

Feeling panic try to take a hold of him, he quickly flipped back to his text messages to double check. His last message from Dean was when he'd been on the cursed object case. Going to his contact list, he clicked the call button next to his brother's name. The call went straight to voicemail.

The phone dropped into his lap from his numb fingers as the world seemed to close in around him and pressure built up in his skull. Dean would never wait this long to call him unless something was wrong. His nightmare was coming true. Dean had disappeared.