"You're too excited about this, dude," Elizabeth says. She's smiling all the same because Dean's excitement is contagious and she's missed that bright smile of his. His green eyes are practically glowing and he's showing off that little dimple in his left cheek. She's a sucker for a man with dimples.
"If I knew all it'd take to get you out of your funk was some decapitated people and dead cattle, I would have found this case sooner," Sam adds. He's smiling, too, bright as sunshine. It's these little moments that Elizabeth clings to after she wakes up from the nightmares.
"What can I say," Dean asks, shrugging. "I'm a simple man. Point me at a monster, let me loose, and then buy me cheeseburgers." Elizabeth laughs at that, head falling back against the seat. It's her seat, too, the Impala back in black just like the song blasting through the speakers. AC/DC's been playing on a loop since they got in, the tape stuck in the player. "How much farther, Sammy?"
"We still have three hundred miles."
"Perfect." Dean smashes his foot down on the accelerator, the car speeding down the empty road. Elizabeth sighs, melting against the leather seat with the little green army man stuck in the ashtray. She runs a finger over the plastic helmet, smiling at all the memories packed into the car. There's a tape tucked under the driver seat, the Chipmunks song about Christmas that Elizabeth had adored when she'd been little. John used to keep it under his seat for those nights when all the kids were cranky and they still had a ways to go before they could stop.
"Christmas, Christmas time is here," she sings softly, drowned out by Brian Johnson. "Time for toys and time for cheer…." Her eyes meet Sam's in the rearview mirror and she catches the edge of a grin. He loves this song, too, and they agreed to sing it to their future kids back when they'd been eight. They'd married each other in their treehouse, raised a group of Raggedy-Anns, and then went through a nasty divorce where they split custody of the Play-dough.
"We've been good, but we can't last," Sam joins in, a little louder. "Hurry Christmas, hurry fast." Dean scowls at the both of them and turns up the volume, but there's a familiar twinkle in his eyes. No matter what, this song is theirs. She bets Dana would have sang it, too, if she were still here. Elizabeth had buried a copy of the tape alongside her sister's ashes behind Bobby's house.
Sam and Elizabeth share another look and then they belt the song out in unison, giving Dean no choice but to join them," Want a plane that loops the loop; me, I want a hula hoop! We can hardly stand the wait, please Christmas, don't be late!"
The Sheriff has a handlebar mustache that's been waxed to perfection and that's about all Elizabeth absorbs from the meeting with him that afternoon. Bobby used to have a mustache like that, back when the girls had been small, and she wonders how much she'd have to pay him to shave his beard.
"There's no such thing as cattle mutilation." Elizabeth perks up at that, tuning back in as the Sheriff leans his arms on his desk. "Leave a dead cow under the hot sun for two days and the bloat'll split open so clean that it looks surgical. The bodily fluids spill out and get soaked into the ground because that's how gravity works." The sarcasm is so sharp you could slice bread with it. "But, sure, it could be Satanic rituals. Any other questions before I leave? I'll give you one." Elizabeth raises her hand and the Sheriff nods.
"What kind of mustache wax do you use?"
"Get out."
"Yes, sir." The hunters leave the station at a fast walk, the Sheriff stalking after them to make sure they leave with no more questions asked. Apparently he doesn't appreciate cattle deaths being connected to people deaths. Go figure. "We heading to the coroner's office," Elizabeth asks once they're in the car.
"The hospital," Dean answers. "That's where the body is." He starts the Impala and lets out a contented sigh when the engine purrs to life. "God, I love that sound." Elizabeth leans over the seat to give Dean a wicked grin.
"You know what sound I like?" She's reaching for him when Sam slaps her hand away. "What, Sammy? Turning into a prude?"
"Only when it involves you two," he says, smiling despite himself. "I have enough trauma, I don't need to add more to it." That's fair. At this point, they're a therapist's wet dream. They should probably go to therapy at some point, but how could they tell the truth when that would mean getting locked up?
"I could tell a therapist about my ADHD," she muses quietly, leaning back in her seat. She could find new coping mechanisms, something better than chewing gum to keep her focused for short bursts or setting timers for anything important.
"I didn't think you believed in therapy."
"I do, it helped after my dad died, but…." But Dana had refused to go after the first month, had locked herself in her room in protest. Elizabeth had refused as well, wanting to be in Dana's good graces. Bobby hadn't fought them about it, had just called and canceled their appointments. He hadn't even suggested it after Dana's funeral.
"I get it, Liza." She sends Sam a grateful look, reaching out to pat his shoulder. He always gets what she's trying to say, even when they were kids. Dean does, too, but it's different.
"We're here," Dean announces, cutting the engine and pocketing his keys. He turns in the seat to look at Elizabeth, green eyes all soft the way she likes to see them. "Do you need a minute before we head inside? I've got two shoulders and they're pretty great to cry on."
"He's right, I've cried on both of those shoulders. Ten-ten, would recommend." Elizabeth laughs at that, grin wide and bright. "Love you."
"I love you idiots, too," she says. They wait until she wipes at her eyes before even trying to get out, Sam bringing a q-tip out of the glovebox to fix her mascara that is not, in fact, waterproof. "Hey, wait a second. Do I look okay? Like, should I change?" She'd gone for a dark academia look this morning; a loose turtleneck, leather jacket, and slacks over a pair of sturdy boots.
"You look cute."
"I know that, but would a professional wear this to examine a dead body? Shouldn't we have lab coats on or something?" Sam heaves out a sigh and then he's striding to the trunk, pulling out a trio of pristine lab coats that Elizabeth hadn't even known were in there. "Uh, where'd you get those?"
"Stole 'em from the hospital when we went to check if that crazy old lady was the shtriga." Elizabeth stands there for a moment, lips parted, unsure what to say to that. When did he have the chance to steal the coats? Did the demon blood give him the ability to vanish as well as visions? And why the fuck doesn't she get special powers? She's got demon blood, too. But nooo, she only gets gum pain and the occasional craving of A-positive.
"Liza," Dean says, waving a hand in front of her face. "You done with the internal rambling?"
"I'm thirsty," she pouts," and my gums hurt."
"The fangs?" She nods, pulling on a lab coat that's slightly too big on her. She'd told Bobby about the fangs and he'd simply shrugged and went out to buy teething rings. Elizabeth wants to be offended, but the damn things helped. "I'll find you something hard to bite on later."
"Carrots?"
"Sure, sweetheart, carrots." Dean smirks and sidles up close, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. "My little bunny rabbit." Warmth floods her cheeks as she blushes, smiling up at him.
"I'm getting hives," Sam complains. "Can we just go check out the dead guy?"
"Didn't know you were into dead chicks, Sammy." Sam punches Dean's arm and stalks away, taking Dean's lab coat with him. "Oh, don't be such a sourpuss." Sam keeps walking, not even bothering to look back. "Hey, I need my coat. Sammy! You fucking Sasquatch!" Dean takes off at a fast walk and Sam begins to jog toward the front doors of the hospital.
"Boy, I sure know how to pick 'em," Elizabeth laughs. She follows her boys at a fast shuffle, the soles of her boots scuffing the cracked asphalt of the parking lot.
The morgue is fairly easy to find, stuck in the basement of the Candler County hospital. They don't even need keys to get there, but they do get a few weird looks when Dean climbs his brother like a tree in order to get his coat.
"Jackass," Dean mutters, pulling on his coat without breaking the glare he's leveling at Sam. Sam just smirks with that superiority all tall people seem to have. Elizabeth ignores them both and presses the button, shifting from foot to foot during the ride down. "You good, Liza?"
"Forgot my meds this morning," she answers, still shifting.
"I'm gonna start grinding them up and putting them in your morning coffee."
"Wish you would." She's tried pill organizers, timers, pretty much everything she can think of. It's a miracle she ever runs out of her medicine with the rate that she forgets it exists. The elevator doors open to reveal cinderblock walls painted a bland shade of eggshell. "Why not a pretty color? What's wrong with pink?"
"It's a basement."
"I painted Uncle B's basement pink." She'd spent an entire afternoon down there after watching one of those home renovation shows on HGTV and Bobby had just come down to remind her to drink water and pee. She's pretty sure he likes the pink walls even if the lime green rugs don't match it well.
"I still can't believe he let you do that. He doesn't seem like the type to like pink."
"He's more of a purple kind of guy, but I'm the baby of the family. I get away with everything." Dean nudges open a door down the hall on the left, finding a younger guy sitting behind a desk.
"Hey, John," Dean greets with a smile.
"Jeff," the guy corrects. He's smiling as he stands up, no offense taken at the mixed up name. He's probably a good guy, ready to make friends, has a large breed of dog that he's named after Samwise. Elizabeth would probably get along with him.
"Right, sorry about that." Dean gives a soft chuckle and a grin that would disarm the devil himself. "Doctor Dorkin sent me after ya. He said he needs to see you in his office." They'd seen the nameplate back in the hall, hopefully it'll work.
"Doctor Dorkin's on vacation." Welp….
"Look, Jeff," Elizabeth says, moving in front of Dean. "All we know is the dude called and he sounded pretty pissed. I think he said something about misfiled paperwork that had HR all in a tizzy."
"Oh God, not the Johnson papers."
"Johnson or Johansson, the connection was pretty rough." Jeff practically flies out of the room, Sam shutting the door behind him. "I kinda feel bad about that."
"But you didn't feel bad about putting salt in my shake," Sam asks.
"Nah." He tries his best to fight off his smile, but Elizabeth can see it peeking out behind his dramatic scowl. "Alright, what should we be looking for?"
"Dunno, markings?"
"A group of satanists in Florida used a reverse pentagram on their victims' foreheads," Dean adds. "Let's just agree to never visit Florida, by the way. I have a feeling we'd be miserable. Goin' after a monster only to realize it's just a normal dude on meth."
"Sounds like the Benders." Sam and Elizabeth share a disgusted look. She still thinks of those cages when she gets a cramp in her legs. "Monsters suck, but humans are pretty fucked up."
"Don't remind me."
"So you don't want to remember getting ambushed by a ten year old," Elizabeth checks with a sarcastic smile. "Not a fond memory, Dee?"
"Says the woman scared of crockpots."
"I'm not scared of crockpots, I'm scared of being put in a crockpot. There's a difference." She takes the gloves Dean's holding out for her, the three of them gathering around the stiff laid out on a table. "When I say I want to be eaten, it's not with a side of roasted potatoes."
"It's with whipped cream."
"I should've stayed in the car," Sam groans.
"If I can deal with having to cut handcuffs off of you because Jess lost the keys and all you were wearing was a flimsy sheet, then you can deal with light flirting," Elizabeth says. Sam groans again, but this time he flushes with embarrassment. The only one that had been entertained that night was Jess, who was also only wearing a sheet.
"Handcuffs, Sammy," Dean asks, arching his brows.
"Shut up and open the tote. I've been traumatized enough already." They all stare down at the plastic tote between the dead girl's feet, none of them making a move to reveal the head inside.
"I'm not opening it. Sammy, you open it."
"What," Sam snaps. "You're the big, strong older brother. I'm just a kid."
"Don't pull that crap with me. I've seen you field dress a deer without a hint of disgust. Opening a tote is nothing compared to that." Sam grimaces, shaking his head stubbornly. "Liza?" She just looks at Dean, blank and purposefully uncomprehending. Weaponized incompetence is an art. "You bunch of wusses."
"Just open the damn thing." Dean's still frowning as he pops the lid off, setting it to the side. The head inside has turned a sickly gray color, but her hair is healthy; no bruising or busted cheekbones, nothing but the clumsy hacking of whatever was used to cut her head off. "No pentagrams."
"Think this wacko stuffed something down her throat? A moth or…?"
"Silence of the Lambs references aren't very classy," Elizabeth murmurs. "But you should probably check her throat anyway."
"Sammy can have that honor." Dean angles the tote so that Sam can get to work, but he quickly turns it back to Dean. "C'mon, put the lotion in the basket."
"No way," Sam protests.
"Yes way."
"No w—"
"I'll do it," Elizabeth interrupts. Who knows how long they have until Jeff gets back? They don't need him strolling in right as they have their fingers stuffed in a dead girl's mouth. There's no explaining their way out of that one.
"We'll get you some of those gummy Lifesavers when we leave here."
"I appreciate that." She pulls her gloves on and gingerly opens the girl's mouth, wincing as she sticks her fingers inside. It's a tight fit and it's cold as sin. "Ugh, I think I'm gonna puke." She pulls her fingers out and scrambles to get the gloves off, flinging them into the little trash can.
"Nothing in there?" She shakes her head, trying to fight back a wave of nausea. She's done a lot of gross shit since she turned eighteen, but this is for sure the grossest.
"Lift her lip up, I think I saw somethin'," Dean says, bending over the tote.
"I'm not touching her."
"Just do it." Sam shakes his head stubbornly and Dean rolls his eyes. He lifts her lip, gesturing Elizabeth closer. "That look familiar to you, Liza?" There are small, vertical slits along the girl's gumline, just big enough for something to slip through. Dean presses down beside one to test his theory and a tooth slips out.
"Extra teeth?"
"Vampire fangs."