A/N: Wow, you guys are really anxious for this next chapter, aren't you? Basically all the reviews I've gotten so far are frantic for a new chapter. That tells me I've done well!

That means I'm not sure how excited you'll be when I tell you there's only two chapters left after this. Well, one and a short epilogue. Sorry. Maybe I'll do another cross over with these two shows at some some point. I dunno, it's always an option!

Until the next chapter, enjoy this one!

EDIT: Someone alerted me to the fact that, at one point, the words "nozzle of a gun" existed in this chapter, and I have never cringed so hard. My auto-correct can go fuck itself. "Nozzle of a gun"? Really?

As soon as the Impala pulled up outside of Sam and Dean's chosen motel room, Dean climbed out and grabbed the two grocery bags filled with easily cookable food. Being on the road a lot meant a lot of fast food and eating at cafes and the like. It was rare when the room they were staying in's kitchenette was not filthy and/or crawling with bugs of some kind.

The room they were currently housed in had a fully functioning kitchenette that looked as if it had been cleaned yesterday, meaning Dean could actually make he and his brother something that would probably not kill them with bad cholesterol and was definitely not microwaved minutes before consumption.

Chuck knew that that was something neither of the brothers were used to, though it had been more common over the last few years.

Dean walked into the motel room and began unpacking groceries. Things not necessary for dinner were put into the fridge, even the things that didn't need refrigerated. Dean may have trusted the fridge, but he definitely did not trust those cabinets. This motel wasn't quite that good.

"Hey," Sam said, looking up from his laptop. "So I've been looking into the police reports of every single person who's gone missing or been found dead in the past year or so."

Dean leaned against the counter, shucking off his coat and flinging it onto his bed. "Okay, so?"

"Get this; every person who's gone missing that also showed up dead? Cause of death for all of them was a slit throat."

Dean looked at him waiting. "Okay? What, they all died the same as Becky?"

Sam continued to look at his screen, scanning through the M.E. reports. "That, and all of their brains were missing."

Dean blinked. "So this town is actually has a problem with zombies, then?" He grinned. "Awesome."

Sam sighed, shrugging. "Maybe, but I'm not sure yet. If it were zombies, I don't think the wounds inflicted to get inside the skull would look as if factory meat-cutting instruments were used, though. And Becky's wasn't reported as missing."

Dean pulled two beers from the fridge and tossed one to Sam. "When we got to the morgue, hadn't Becky's head been sawed open already?"

Sam nodded. "That's another reason I'm looking through M.E. reports. Something about that doesn't seem right to me. Why would they cut out Becky's brain? She died of a cut throat, and the initial examination didn't find anything on her skull that might lead to another examination of anything inside it."

Dean sat on his bed. "So there was no reason for Liv and Chakra-what's his name to crack open Becky's melon?" His beer stopped halfway to his mouth, and he grinned. "What if they're zombies, dude, and they're eating brains from dead people in the morgue so they don't eat living people?"

Sam looked at him skeptically. "Really, Dean? That sounds a little bit too much like the plot of a CW show to me." Then he binked. "The Assistant M.E.'s last name, the supposed psychic, what was her last name?" His fingers were poised above the keyboard, waiting.

"Uh, Moore. Liv Moore." Dean smirked. "That'd be the most ironic ever, if Liv does turn out to be a zombie."

Sam huffed a laugh, scanning through the news sites. Then he sat up a little straighter. "Dude."

Dean looked at him, his interest spiking. "What'd you find?"

"You remember that killer boat party that went down? Anyone drinking Max Rager suddenly went nuts, with only about fifteen survivors?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"Liv Moore was listed as one of the survivors. She was found on the beach, where somebody thought she was dead. The guy had just gotten through body-bagging everybody who'd washed up on shore when she woke up."

"Geez."

"Yeah." Sam turned the computer around to face Dean. On the screen was a pretty brunette with dark hair and eyes, wearing a white doctor's coat.

Dean stared at it a moment. "She's cute. Who is she?"

Sam smiled, though it wasn't really a smile. "Liv Moore. Before the boat party." He turned the computer back toward hom. "You know how else Liv Moore was before the party? A promising young doctor just out of med school, with a full career in front of her. Then, after the boat party, she quit and started working at the police morgue."

Dean made a face. "Well, shock and PTSD do weird things to people, and God knows what that girl experienced at the party."

Sam looked over at him skeptically again. "Does PTSD bleach your hair, skin, and eyes?"

Dean huffed. "Do I look like a shrink to you? How the hell should I know?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Well, I'll give you a hint, Dean, it doesn't. While it may give a person a few gray hairs, it won't make them look like an albino."

"Alright, fine." Dean shifted in his seat. "So, what? We go ask Liv what the hell happened at that boat party and if it has anything to do with the stuff that's going on right now?"

"I guess." Sam stood, stretching, then closed his computer and pulled on his jacket. Dean stood reluctantly and began putting the rest of the groceries into the fridge, freezing when a knock sounded at the door.

Sam and Dean shared a look, and Sam crept over to his bag and dug through it, searching for his gun. Dean walked quickly and quietly to the door, one hand on the gun hidden beneath his coat. Glancing behind him, he saw Sam had found his gun and was pointing it at the door, waiting for Dean.

Dean nodded, placed the barrel of his gun against the wood of the door, then opened it slowly and carefully. But not all the way. The door chain was still in place, and Dean opened the door as wide as was allowed. He blinked in surprise and took the chain off, opening the door a moment later.

"And here we were about to go out and find you," Dean said, allowing Liv Moore through the door. Sam lowered his hands, though the gun never left them. Both men remained alert.

Sam gestured with the gun toward the table. "Sit, please."

Liv eyed the gun. "You know, I think I will." And she did so.

"Why're you here?" Dean asked, purposefully putting a bit of threat into his voice.

Liv looked at him calmly, no trace of fear in her eyes or stance. "I'm here, Dean Winchester, to tell you what's been going on in this city, and why you have to leave."