Liam

Liam, remembering that her phone was tucked into the back pocket of her jeans, pulled it out and slid it open. She took her eyes off her surroundings for just a moment to dial Hill, but found that she had no bars. She growled in frustration, her heart rate spiking. She had never experienced a problem with her service here. A desperation crept over her that she was unaccustomed to feeling after her years of training and experience on the job. She placed the phone to her ear, clearing her throat.

"Hill," she said to nobody, "I'm at the Monte Clair. Get your ass down here and send backup."

She slid the phone shut, hoping that the perpetrator had heard the fake conversation and would decide to turn themself over to her custody. She slipped the phone back into her pocket, freezing when the temperature of the air around her dropped in a sudden rush. The hair on her arms and neck stood at attention, and she turned, looking for the source of the change. She'd barely turned fully before a hand clamped around her throat, squeezing tightly.

The woman was shorter than Liam, with short dark hair cut into a bob. Her eyes were dark and the expression in them was hollow. She was the palest person Liam had ever seen - no, she wasn't just pale. She was absolutely translucent. Liam grabbed at the hands enclosed on her throat, her eyes wide at the extent of the woman's strength as she was easily lifted from the floor. Liam fruitlessly attempted to kick at the traditional weak spots of the body she'd learned in training, but the woman didn't even seem to register the blows.

Liam's back hit the metal railing of the catwalk with a loud crack, and the momentum of being thrown sent her flipping over the bar like a rag doll. Her hands scrambled to find purchase as she tumbled over the railing, and she managed to grab one of the lower bars. She winced as the effort of holding on aggravated the pains she'd already accumulated. She glanced down at the stage below. Letting go and hoping for the best was not an option. She attempted to pull herself up with only the strength of her arms and cried out as her elbow protested. Her hands began to sweat.

Blaire

As Blaire sped across town to the theater, her phone was ringing loudly on the dash in front of her. It was the repeated calls from Agent Rourke that she was refusing to answer, knowing that hanging up on him had more than likely left him fearful that she would go against his wishes.

She pulled up to the theater and threw the car into park with a jolt. She surveyed the entrance to the large lobby as she quickly got out of the car. Her feet slapped the pavement with fervor. When she reached the large brass door handles, she attempted to fling them open and sprint inside, but they wouldn't give. The doors were locked. Blaire began to try all of them, moving down the line and rattling each of the six door handles. Not one opened.

Thinking quickly, Blaire scanned the area around her. There was a bench with two cement pots on either side, both too large for her to lift. The trash can placed there by the township seemed a permanent fixture. Refusing defeat, she took off back to her car and threw open the trunk. Inside was a spare tire she had promised her father to always stow back there, a set of jumper cables, and a tire iron. Grateful and quick thinking, Blaire snatched it up and ran back, not bothering to slam the trunk shut behind her.

She raced to the entrance once more, tire iron gripped tightly in her hand. In one swift motion, she struck the frosted glass before her. The glass broke on impact, beginning to spiderweb out from where the tire iron had penetrated the barrier. She pulled it out and swung down at it again and it shattered. She braced her arm over her eyes as she felt the glass raining down around her. Keeping the iron clutched tightly in her hand, she stepped through the bare door frame.

"Liam!" She shouted frantically as soon as her feet touched the velvety red carpet in the grand lobby. The silence that she was met with did nothing to calm her heart rate. She took off up the stairs toward the theater itself, taking the steps two at a time.

"LIAM!" She continued to call, trying to catch her breath as she got to the top of the stairs. She looked down either side of the hallway and saw nothing.

She continued her momentum and shoved the theater door open. Inside, the dimly lit room dwarfed her. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized that above the stage, it was Liam hanging from the catwalk, struggling to hold herself aloft.

"Liam!" Blaire took off down the aisle toward her. "I'm coming!"

As she sped down the aisle, Blaire felt a force strike her from behind, knocking her forward to the ground. She felt the searing pain in her knees as they made contact with the floor. She caught herself so that her head did not make contact with the carpet in front of her. Blaire slowly got to her feet and felt a similar force hit her in the chest, knocking her several feet back into the seats behind her. When she landed, it was her hip that got the brunt of the impact, followed by her back and then head. She found herself tangled in the seats in such an uncomfortable manner, that it took her a few seconds to figure out how to begin to get to her feet.

"Hang on!" Blaire tried to call out but felt the wind had been knocked out of her.

In that moment, the doors at the top of the aisle flew open. Blaire was still scrambling to her feet as Detective Marr came barreling down the aisle towards the stage.

Liam

"Blaire?" Liam called, wincing at the effort of holding on. She'd been confused but mostly relieved to hear her best friend calling out to her; her relief shriveled into terror as she heard Blaire's cry amidst a crashing sound that sounded suspiciously like violent impact. She tried to look over her shoulder but couldn't pivot enough while keeping her grip.

She let out a shaky breath and tried to focus on using her core strength to pull her legs up.

"Hang on, I'm coming," a deep voice called as she heard the hard footfalls of someone running up the stage stairs. The FBI impersonator - Dean - was underneath her, gun in hand, running to the ladder.

"I've got it," Liam replied, but her jaw was clenching too hard to sound convincing, "help my friend."

In the next moment, the woman appeared on the catwalk again, this time squatting so that her face was unnervingly close to Liam's. Her hands grabbed Liams and nails dug into her skin until the back of her hands drew blood. She was going to pry Liam off the catwalk.

"Nevermind," Liam choked out, "Me! Help me!"

A gunshot rang out, and Liam flinched as the bullet missed the woman and ricocheted off a metal rig.

"What the hell?" Liam yelled, her voice pitching higher the way it always did when she panicked. The woman seemed to be thinking likewise, as her face darkened in rage and she disappeared. Liam blinked away the shock of seeing her vanish and used the last of her strength to get a leg wrapped around the railing. She used the leverage to clumsily pull her body back onto the catwalk and collapsed on the grating. The pissed apparition had reappeared in front of Dean and charged him with a scream. He shot again, and this time he didn't miss. The woman dissolved.

"Is she dead?" Liam called down to him. The look he gave her was irate.

"Yeah, that's the problem."

"Is she gone?" Liam clarified, climbing to her feet.

"For now," he replied.

"Blaire?" Liam called, hurrying to the ladder and beginning her descent. It felt like she had bruised her ribs and back when she got knocked over the railing. When Liam reached the stage, Blaire was limping down the aisle, a crowbar clutched tightly in her hands. Liam heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of Blaire breathing and on her feet. Liam ran down the stage steps and Dean followed, gathering with the women in the area between the stage and the audience.

"Got something you want to say to me, Detective?" Dean was saying, his tone wry. Liam wasn't sure if he was asking for an apology or a thank you, but she wasn't in the spirits to provide either.

"Yeah, you could've killed me," She replied, nodding toward the catwalk and then glancing at the gun in his hand, "do you even know how to use that thing?"

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but then closed it again, stumped by her audacity.

"Why don't we take this outside?" Blaire suggested.

Blaire

Blaire could feel the pain from her hip radiating down to her knee. Bruises were already starting to form on her forearm where she had felt the impact against the sturdy backs of the theater chairs. Liam was moving even slower than she was, clutching her side.

"Thanks for coming to get me," she smiled weakly and winced as she reached out to Blaire, thought better of it, and let her free arm rest at her side. Agent Marr scoffed behind them.

"Thanks for not falling to your death while you waited." Blaire reached out and squeezed Liam's free hand and both looked back at Agent Marr.

"Shhh." He said, staring up at the catwalk. The telltale creaks of metal scraping against metal were heard before Blaire was even able to notice the platform swaying back and forth.

Liam drew her gun. Agent Marr had his trained on the catwalk. Blaire looked around, down at the seemingly useless tire iron clutched desperately in her hand.

"You two get out of here." Agent Marr called over his shoulder at them and began to walk forward to the catwalk. Liam began to insist otherwise but he had anticipated that, "I know what I'm doing. Your rounds are useless. Go."

Feeling a bit less confident about being sandwiched between two powerful weapons, Blaire turned to look at Liam. She was glancing down at her gun in confusion, trying to draw some information between comparing hers with his.

Blaire opened her mouth to convince Liam that the federal agent with some hunch about haunts probably had a leg up on the situation over them. Before a word could sneak out, there was a crash behind her. When she whipped around, Marr was being pinned against the wall up on stage, the pale woman easily holding him up one handed by the throat.

Without any thought and even less hesitation, Blaire took off toward the stage. Her hip and back screaming as she took the stairs beside the stage two at a time. When she got close enough, she was able to see that Agent Marr's face was transitioning from red to purple. He was grasping aimlessly at the air to get the woman's grip to falter. Desperate yet hopeful, Blaire squared her hips and shoulders and swung the tire iron in her hand at the translucent attacker. As the metal rod ran through her, she flickered like a dim bulb and disappeared.

"Blaire." Liam gasped.

"I did it!" Blaire celebrated excitedly as she assessed the red marks on Agent Marr's neck. "Wait...how did I do that?" Blaire furrowed her brows at the agent and looked down at the tire iron she let go of in a frenzy.

"Iron." Agent Marr croaked, massaging his neck. He picked up the shotgun he had dropped while being choked and held it up for Liam to see. "Rock salt."

Blaire looked up at Liam. She was sure that the detective who relied so heavily on logical, tangible evidence was spinning as she tried to process all of this new information. Hell, Blaire felt herself spinning despite the hours of bizarre research she had to prime her psyche for what she had just seen.

Blaire stood beside Agent Marr as he got to his feet slowly. She kept her hands out as he steadied himself and ran a hand through his hair.

"Alright," he huffed definitively, "let's get you out of here."

Agent Marr guided Blaire in front of him by the shoulder. He turned to check the catwalk behind him before following her down the steps. The two of them made it back to the furrowed brow detective and Blaire took her gently by the arm.

"I have so many questions," Liam began. Blaire nodded. Agent Marr gave her a look that let both women know that this was definitely part of the job.

The three of them began to exit the theater in silence, only slight gasps and whimpers from the injured pair interrupted the sound of their footsteps. Just as they reached the lobby, they stopped in their tracks as an even angrier looking Beatrice appeared before them.

"Dammit." Agent Marr swore under his breath and turned his gun on her again.

"Again?" Liam was sounding both confused and defeated.

Just as Agent Marr pumped his shotgun to prepare for another round of rocksalt and before he could fire, the ghost of the actress burst into contained yet consuming flames. She let out a wail as she appeared to turn into ash. Soon, there was nothing left of her.

Liam

"Are you alright?" Blaire asked, catching Liam gently by the elbow and turning her to get a better look at her injuries. Dean had ushered them out of the building and into the frigid dusk. Blaire's car was parked over the curb, haphazardly straddling the sidewalk.

"I'll be fine," Liam said, not taking her wary eyes off Dean, who had pulled a cell phone from his pocket and was speaking gruffly to someone on the other end. Blaire pressed gently on Liam's abdomen, and Liam winced.

"Your ribs are bruised. Maybe even fractured," Blaire said.

"What about you?" Liam replied, "you're limping."

"I'll be sore for a few days, but that's all."

"What am I supposed to do with this guy?" Liam murmured, lowering her voice and nodding toward Dean.

"What do you mean?"

"Do I just pretend like I never saw him? What am I supposed to say at the precinct? I can't write a report that says the perpetrator was a ghost."

Her tone was adopting a shrill quality - even she could hear it.

"How about," Blaire said, taking on a diplomatic tone as she waved Dean over to them, "we let him explain everything a little bit more, and then we can decide where to go from here."

Dean, who had heard the tail-end of Blaire's suggestion, nodded.

"Name the place," he said simply.

"Dick's," Blaire said, causing Dean to raise an eyebrow, "Dick's Diner. It's just a couple blocks west. We'll meet you there."

"My bag's still inside," Liam said, "my keys."

"You can ride with me," said Blaire, "we'll swing by and get your car after."

"That's fine, but I shouldn't leave anything behind. In case we decide we weren't here," Liam replied, shaking her head as if to rid it of any extra noise and leave only the logic she needed to perform as usual. She turned back to the theater door, but hesitated, eyeing the window Blaire had broken to gain entry into the building.

"It's gone now," Dean reminded Liam, watching her with uncertainty and exchanging a glance with Blaire.

"I know," Liam said, her posture defensive. Still, she didn't move, continuing to think.

"I'll go in and clear things out," Dean said, "you two head to the diner. My brother and I will meet you there."

"Okay, thanks," Blaire said, "wait, your brother?"

When they arrived at the diner, they were immediately assaulted with the reminder that it was seven o'clock on a Saturday night. The parking lot of Dick's Diner, while not full, was certainly more crowded than it would be on the average night. Liam, upon realizing that she was likely about to encounter people she knew, pulled herself into a calm facade. This was still just like any other investigation, she told herself, knowing that it was absolute bullshit.

Liam and Blaire exited the car when the black impala pulled into the lot. The brothers parked and stepped out to meet them, Dean looking irate and his brother looking like he'd seen better nights.

"You're supposed to keep a change of clothes in the car," Dean was saying with a scowl, "you know how long it's gonna take to get that dirt out of the upholstery seams?"

"Agent Rourke" Blaire took in the brother's soiled clothes, "why are you dirty?"

"Actually, it's Sam." He said, shoving his hands into his pockets, "Why don't we go inside?"

"You did what?" Liam whispered harshly, glancing around the diner to ensure that nobody was listening.

"I think what you mean is thank you," Dean replied, flipping through the laminated menu with a cavalier ease.

"Did you at least fill it back in?" Liam asked, pressing fingers to her temples. Sam looked sheepish and apologetic, and Liam cursed under her breath.

"Why don't we get some food and then start at the beginning?" Blaire suggested, flagging down the server. Dean put on a charming smile as the older woman approached and greeted them.

"I'll take an iced tea and the turkey club," Sam said politely, handing his menu over to Dean, who stacked it with his own and handed them to the woman.

"I'll have a bacon cheeseburger and a coke," he said, nodding to Liam, "and my friend here will have the pea soup."

Liam straightened, glaring at him. The server glanced between them uncomfortably before giving Liam an apologetic smile, "we don't have that."

"Yeah, I'll just have water, thanks," Liam replied.

"Water for me, too," Blaire added, "and just some fries, please."

After the woman walked away, Blaire leaned forward, folding her arms on the table.

"So," she began, "Sam and Dean…?"

"Winchester," Sam said.

"Right," Blaire continued, "and you're obviously not federal agents. Unless this is like an X-Files thing."

"I wish it were that simple," Sam replied.

"So then who are you?" Liam asked, looking between them, "What is it you do, exactly? Your job."

"We're hunters," Sam said, "and it's not so much a job as it is a lifestyle."

"Hunters?" Blaire repeated, "so you hunt ghosts?"

"Among other things," said Dean.

"And you just do this on your own?" Liam asked. Her expression was still wary, like a child who had been asked why gullible was written on the ceiling too many times.

"No, we take orders from the secretary of defense," Dean said. Sam gave him a disapproving look.

"So, then," Blaire cut in, circling back, "that thing. She was a ghost. Right?"

"Yeah," Sam replied, "a disgruntled spirit."

"Where did she go?"

Dean shrugged, "Hell? Who cares. She won't be bothering you anymore."

"So the rock salt," Liam prompted.

"It just hurts them. Like the iron," Dean said, "burning the remains is what sent her packing."

"What made her stay?" Blaire asked.

"The remains," Dean repeated, looking at her like she was an idiot.

"I mean why," Blaire clarified with a glare, "what made her want to stay? Did she have a choice?"

"The philosophy of it all is a little lost on us," Sam said, "sometimes there's unsettled business, I guess."

"The abortion," Blaire said, her brow furrowing, "Beatrice Patridge was basically blackmailed into getting an abortion by a director working at the theater."

"So, what about you two?" Sam asked, looking between the women, "how do you know each other?"

"We live together," Liam said, "we grew up together."

The server came back with their drinks and food, and the group waited in awkward silence as she doled it all out.

"So, you said you hunt ghosts among other things," Blaire continued when they were alone again, "if ghosts are real, what else is there?"

"Um," Sam said, glancing with uncertainty at Dean, not sure what to make of Blaire's curiosity, "demons?"

"Yeah, demons are a bitch," Dean agreed, nodding as he took a bite of his greasy cheeseburger.

"Demons?" Liam repeated, shifting uncomfortably, "how do you know that was a ghost and not a demon?"

"Because we've been doing this longer than a day," Dean replied wryly, washing

the bite down with a swig of his coke.

"What about zombies?" Blaire asked, "Werewolves?"

"Unless there's one in my immediate vicinity, I don't think I need to hear about it," Liam said sharply. She sent Blaire an apologetic look after realizing she had snapped at her.

"It's alright," Sam said, "most people want to go back to their normal lives and never think about this kind of thing again. Ignorance is bliss and all that."

"That's not what I'm saying," Liam insisted, feeling defensive, "I just...there are more immediate problems at hand right now."

"Like?" Dean said, raising an eyebrow.

"Like the theater we just fired three rounds in. Not to mention the busted lights, the busted seats-"

"They aren't that busted," Blaire murmured, scratching the back of her neck and blushing.

"Are you hurt?" Sam asked her, putting two and two together.

"I'm fine," Blaire said, "Just got thrown around a little bit."

"Yeah, they'll do that," Sam said with a reassuring, tight-lipped smile.

"So what's the plan, here?" Liam continued, all business.

"Finish this burger and get a milkshake to go?" Dean said, eyebrows rising in confusion.

"About the theater," said Liam between gritted teeth.

"Uh," Sam said, searching her expression as if he was equally unsure as his brother, "is there...I mean, is there something else we can help with?"

"I'm assuming it needs to be covered up," Liam said, feeling like they were somehow having two different conversations.

"That's really up to you," replied Dean, "that's not our department."

"So you just roll through and then skip town to leave others cleaning up the mess?" Blaire asked. Sam looked uncomfortable.

"...Yeah?" He replied. The table was silent for a long moment as they picked at their food. Liam snatched a fry from Blaire's plate and tore it between her teeth with a little too much spirit.

"They did save our lives," Blaire murmured, leaning close to consult with Liam.

Liam took a sip of her water, and the girls continued in silence. Somewhere nearby, a fork scraped loudly against a plate. Sam and Dean exchanged a look.

"What needs to be done?" Dean asked.

"I suppose we fix up what we can in the theater? Then there's the grave, of course," Liam said. Sam looked physically pained at the suggestion.

"Fix up a theater that's about to be torn down? Sounds like a night well-spent," Dean murmured. Blaire sat a little straighter in her seat, drawing everyone's attention. She had been quietly thinking.

"What if we didn't have to fix it?" She asked.

"You mean come up with a cover story?" Sam said, raising an eyebrow.

"Not just a story," Blaire said. She glanced around to make sure nobody nearby was paying attention and lowered her voice. Sam and Dean leaned in a bit, eager to listen to any suggestion that involved less labor, "we vandalize it."

When the suggestion was out on the table for consideration, the three of them turned to look at Liam, anticipating her reaction.

"Vandalize...the theater?" Liam repeated.

Blaire nodded, "nobody's going to notice a couple of broken lights and seats if they think some reckless teenagers got in."

"You love that theater," Liam reminded her. Blaire looked sad for a moment as she considered this, and finally shrugged.

"They're going to destroy it either way."

Liam chewed at the inside of her cheek for a moment before sighing and reaching for the wallet Dean had returned to her. She pulled out a few bills and chucked them on the table, standing, "We should wait until it gets late. I'll make sure nobody's patrolling the area."

"So head home for a shower and a nap, then rendezvous at the theater around 10:30?" Dean suggested, pulling out his own wallet and tossing down some cash. Liam raised an eyebrow as he stood to his full height, looking down at her.

"Sure," she said, "but you should probably wait until after you've filled in the grave for that shower."

Dean's eyebrows shot toward his hairline and Sam barked a laugh, covering his mouth when Dean glared at him.

"What the hell just happened?" Liam heard Dean murmur as she exited the diner with Blaire.