"Do I have to wear the hat?"
"Yes."
"But I look stupid in hats."
"You look as beautiful as always." Elizabeth shoots Dean an unimpressed look and he grins in response. "Here, let me help you." He moves closer, adjusting the hat so that it sits better on her head. "There, that's better." She scoffs and steps away from him, sliding her pistol into the holster.
"Let's get going. The sooner this is over, the sooner I can get drunk." Sam's waiting for them in the car, flipping through John's journal. Elizabeth honestly doesn't know how the boys can read John's chicken scratch, but maybe it's just something they adapted to do. Elizabeth can stay underwater for five minutes and they can read their father's handwriting. "So, why did we drag our asses to Minnesota?"
"Kid saw a man get abducted by an invisible person," Sam tells them, thumb rubbing the margin of the paper.
"If Hook Man's back, then I call dibs on smiting his ass this time. Lord knows he deserves it for tossing me around like a rag doll." Sam puts the journal down so he can turn and look at her with the world's worst Bitch Face™. "And also for killing all those other people and shit."
"Mm-hm. Turn here, Dean." Dean obeys, pulling into a parking lot outside an apartment building. "Come on, let's get this interview over with so I don't have to see Liza in that stupid hat."
"I told you I look stupid in hats." Dean punches Sam's shoulder in the same instant that he turns to look at Elizabeth.
"Don't listen to him, honey," he says. "He's just jealous he doesn't look hot in a cop uniform." She grins at the bullshit he's spewing, leaning forward to kiss him. "You look hot in everything, you know. Especially in whipped cream and—"
"Okay," Sam says loudly. "I don't need to hear about your weird sex acts. I don't need that trauma."
"You telling me you never licked whipped cream off Jess's—"
"Nope!" He's out of the car and striding up to the apartment before Dean can finish his question, fingers in his ears in case Dean yells it at him. Dean turns to look at Elizabeth again, arching his brows. "Those two must have had one boring sex life."
"Nah, I walked in on them once and they make what we do look tame," Elizabeth says, getting out before Dean can ask any questions. Sam and Jess came up with some positions that should hold a place of honor in the Kama Sutra. She catches up with Sam in record time, Dean right behind her as Sam knocks on the apartment door.
The woman that opens the door is the definition of frazzled, her brown hair pulled into a messy ponytail and her clothes hanging loosely off her like she's lost a bit of weight recently, a splotch of what looks like baby food staining her sleeve. Elizabeth looked much the same after her niece was born.
"Can I help you," the woman asks, looking between the three of them.
"Hi, Mrs. McKay, we're here to follow up on the statement your son gave the other night," Elizabeth says with a smile. "Is Evan home?"
"Uh, yeah. Come on in." The McKay house is in disarray, but that's nothing unusual when you have young kids. Elizabeth's apartment looks like a disaster zone when Lilly visits, especially if she's hyped up on sugar. "Evan, honey, come here!" The little whirlwind comes running into the room, coming to a stop next to his mom. "Go ahead and tell them what you told the other cops."
"You said I just made it up," Evan accuses, looking up at his mom. "You told those other cops that I was just having a nightmare."
"Evan, don't be a smartass." Evan looks over to the others, a stubborn tilt to his head.
"I saw Mister Jenkins get pulled under a car in the parking lot by some invisible monster that sounded like a robot that's had it's vocals messed with." Elizabeth raises her brows at the blunt answer, fighting back a smile. "I don't really know how to explain the sound 'cause that's not quite right. It sort of made a—" He pauses and then mimics the sound, like metal scraping metal. "Like that."
"And you're sure you didn't see who grabbed Mister Jenkins," Sam checks.
"No, it was under the car already. I'm sure it was invisible. It pulled Mister Jenkins under the car and took him away and it made a whining growl when it left. Does that help?"
"More than you know, Evan," Dean promises. "Thanks for your help." They head out of the apartment and straight for the Impala, Elizabeth chucking her hat and pistol in the backseat before getting in. "So, what now?"
"I vote food," Elizabeth says, shrugging out of her jacket. "Something greasy that's served with booze."
"To the bar, then."
They end up at a place called Kugel's Keg with a howling wolf depicted in neon lights out front, the type of dive bar Elizabeth is familiar with. The burgers are extra greasy with the ketchup slopping over the sides and the pickles extra sour, the beer is frothy, and the floor is covered in peanut shells.
"Locals ruled out foul play," Sam says, reading over the paper he stole. Elizabeth makes a sound when he glances up at her to confirm she's listening, her mouth full of overcooked burger. "You look like a chipmunk."
"A beautiful chipmunk," Dean adds with a dopey grin.
"Why are you on a beauty kick? You get laid more than normal dudes."
"Because my girl is beautiful, that's why." Sam looks back to Elizabeth and arches a brow, nodding in his brother's direction. Dean doesn't notice, too busy playing darts.
"I said something about this chick I graduated with being prettier than me and he was offended on my behalf," she explains with a fond smile. "Now he's intent on reminding me I'm beautiful and that Christa Caldwell can suck it."
"Wasn't she the mean chick," Sam asks. "The one that used to bully you because of your glasses?"
"Yeah, but she stopped when I pulled a chunk of her hair out." It had been a vicious fight and Elizabeth had taken some licks of her own, but she'd come out on top with a hunk of blonde hair and one hoop earring. To be fair, she hadn't meant to pull the earring out, but it was very large and tangled up in the hair. Remember, kids, always take off your jewelry before you start throwing punches. "What else does the paper say?"
"Signs of a struggle, possible kidnapping. Police are working to find more evidence."
"So maybe this isn't our gig," Dean says.
"How many times have you said that in the past year and been wrong, man? Besides, Dad marked this town in his journal as having a high amount of disappearances. He said, and I quote, possible hunting ground of phantom attacker."
"Does that mean we should go look for an opera house," Elizabeth asks dryly. Sam and Dean look over at her with nonplussed expressions, Elizabeth ducking her head. "Sorry, reflex."
"Apparently Dad found some local folklore about a dark figure that only comes out at night to grab healthy people and then vanishes."
"Healthy? That's a specific thing they all have in common?" Sam checks the notes and then nods again. "Dude, what if the thing is eating them?" The boys wear matching expressions of disgust and she scoffs. "Why else take healthy people? Fight club?"
"Any number of reasons, Liza." Sam stutters as he tries to think of any, then concedes with a nod. "Most of which are food or fighting." Dean pulls his darts out of the board and steps back to throw them again, bulls-eye every time. "I say we start researching tomorrow."
"Sounds good," Dean agrees. "I'll go back to the apartment and see if there were any cameras watching the parking lot. Maybe they caught something that Evan didn't see."
"Like flashing eyes?"
"You thinking shapeshifter?" Sam shrugs. "Alright, well, we'll throw ideas out tomorrow morning. Whatever sticks is what we'll work with."
"I saw a motel about five miles back. I'll go check us in."
"I'll come, too," Elizabeth says, pushing the food away from her. "I want a bath and a face mask before I go to bed tonight." She stands with a tired grunt, kissing Dean's cheek. "Don't stay out too late, babe."
"I'll finish this game and then meet you out front," he says, kissing her again. "Love you."
"Love you too." She slaps his ass before walking away, shooting him a grin over her shoulder. "Sammy, wait up!"
"Move your ass, blondie," he calls. "I don't have all night." She runs just to beat him to the front door, pushing it open and breathing in the fresh air. It's gotten dark in the hour they were in the bar, a fog rolling in. "Spooky out tonight."
"They wouldn't choose healthy people if they were eating them."
"What?"
"The monster, they wouldn't choose healthy people."
"Why's that?"
"Didn't you ever read Hansel and Gretel when you were a kid? The witch fattened the kids up because fatty meat tastes better on a low heat. You get someone chunky, toss 'em in the crockpot on low for seven hours and then serve them with a side of potatoes."
"You've put a disturbing amount of thought into this."
"I know."
"It gave you nightmares, didn't it?"
"Big time, yeah. I had a game plan of how to escape and gank the witch by the time I was seven. Caleb thought it was hilarious until Uncle B made him babysit me one night. Now Hansel and Gretel is banned."
"It still gives you nightmares, doesn't it?"
"At least I can go to a circus and not pee myself."
"Clowns are fucking scary."
"They're old dudes in makeup and big shoes." They're halfway to the car now, but Sam grabs Elizabeth's arm the same time she goes for his jacket. "Did you hear that?"
"Like chains dragging the ground? Yeah, I heard that." Sam pulls his flashlight out and shines it around, the light glinting off car hoods and the chrome on motorcycles. "Maybe it was nothing."
"Jenkins was dragged under a car when he was taken." The pair turns their gaze to the car in front of them, Sam setting the journal on the trunk before he kneels down. A cat hisses and darts out, making Elizabeth scramble backwards and trip over Sam as he tries to do the same.
"I fucking hate cats."
"Come on, let's just get in the car." They get up and brush each other off, an old routine of taking care of each other. "You okay?"
"Please, it'll take more than tripping to hurt me these days." He snorts, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to steer her towards the Impala. They don't even make it three feet before they hear a harsh whine of an engine turning over. "Please tell me I didn't hear that."
"Wish I could." Headlights wash over them, blinding them in time for something hard to collide with the side of Elizabeth's head. She groans and stumbles but doesn't go down until it hits her a second time. She's pretty sure seven concussions in as many months is a world record. "Liza—" Sam drops beside her, eyes fluttering shut.
A pair of hands grab her ankles and start to drag her over the rough asphalt, her sweater hiking up and the bare skin of her back taking the worst of the scrapes. She tries to struggle, but her head feels cloudy and she can't keep her thoughts in order. She thinks of Hansel and Gretel as she's loaded into the back of a camper, of a crockpot and the weight she can't seem to loose.
"Don't eat me," she slurs. "I don't taste good."
And then she's out.