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Santa Barbara, Friday 11:30pm

            Serena walked along the darkened path, swaying back and forth from the alcohol in her system.  The lights seemingly danced around with her drunken state playing the silent music. 

            It was sudden, the pain.  The feeling of being stuffed like a chicken, and thrown around in the dirt.  She screamed, but no sound came out.  It was too late.  She was now a full blown demon.  The new, dark soul covered the light of Serena's eyes with blackness.  She was ready to kill.

            Four miles away, near the center of town, Melissa stood outside her boyfriend's apartment, tapping her foot in anger.  He'd done it again; left her in the lurch instead of taking her out on their 6-month anniversary.  Sighing, she walked off, swearing up and down that it was over.

            Around the corner she went, anger seething through her sweet exterior.  As she walked, she was too emotional to notice the shrubs moving.  Before she knew what was going on, it was too late.  An invisible force knocked her down and tore at her clothes and skin within seconds.  Her screams pierced the air; full of fright and pain.  And then there was silence.

 

Saturday, 8:30am, Santa Barbara

            Lassie surveyed the damage as far away from the actual body as possible.  The condition of the woman was, well, there wasn't a word for it.  You could hardly tell it was a woman anymore.  Blood was everywhere, sprayed in every possible direction.  Lassie was sure that when Guster came onto the scene (as he was bound to do considering Juliet had called Shawn) things were going to get even messier.

            Juliet took care looking and walking around where the body was found.  She had called Shawn almost twenty minutes ago, and was wondering what was taking her boyfriend so long; then again, he probably stopped for food. 

            "O'Hara, where is that poor excuse for a boyfriend of yours?" Lassie growled.

            "Carlton, what did I tell you before?" Juliet crossed her arms as she stared down her partner.

            He mumbled an apology and started barking orders at Buzz when Shawn and Gus showed up.

            "Gus, it's obvious!  The book is so lifelike that it has to be fake!" Shawn said in exhaustion.

            "I heard that they showed up to a convention a while back!  The book is real!  Ghosts are real!  And vampires, werewolves..." Gus started, but trailed off when he saw the blood splatter.

            "Here we go," Shawn whispered as Gus turned on his heels and ran.  Iron Stomach had failed to stay more than five seconds.

            Juliet watched with sadness and amusement as Gus jumped back into the Blueberry and sat there, looking deliberately at a piece of paper; trying not to look at the crime scene.

            "Jules!  Sorry, he's...oh my...what happened here?" Shawn asked, sounding serious.

            "Some kind of animal attack, or so says the witness.  Lassiter isn't so sure," Juliet said with a glance over at her partner.

            Shawn's hyper-observant gift kicked in at that moment.  Scratch marks all over the ground.  The victim herself had large claw marks down her entire body.  Shawn turned away for a moment; the view of the crime scene almost too much to bear.  He turned back, seeing more claw marks along the cement; deep in the cement. 

            ‘What kind of an animal could make deep marks?' He thought.

 

Sunday, 10:00am Reno, Nevada

            Sam Winchester flipped the pages of the newspaper he was reading, looking for any possible weirdness in the world.  He looked up at his brother Dean, who was eating a burger.

            "Dude," Sam said, shaking his head.

            Dean looked up, his mouth full of burger, "What?" he asked.

            "It's ten A.M. and you're eating a burger," Sam said.

            "Yeah, because I didn't get to eat last night, since we were ganking about fifty demons and two Leviathans," Dean retorted, dropping his burger on the napkin. 

            Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's eating habits.  Looking back down at the newspaper, he spotted a story about a strange murder in Santa Barbara.  Right next to it was a missing person.

            "Dean, here's something," Sam said, pointing to the story of the killing.

            Dean grabbed the paper to check the story out when Bobby's flask shifted.  Both brothers looked right at it.

            "Bobby?" Dean asked of their dead friend, who'd been haunting them the last few months.

            It was suddenly colder in the motel room, and Bobby stood by the table, his familiar cap perched on his head like always.  He looked at the paper, too, over Dean's shoulder.

            "By the looks of the story, it might be a werewolf," he said to the brothers. 

            Dean read over the story a couple of times, noticing the lack of the words ‘missing the heart' within the story, "I'm not sure about that.  It doesn't say anything about a missing heart."

            "I know that, Idjit!" Bobby said, shaking his head.

            "We should check it out.  It's about an eight-hour drive, so it'll give us enough time to research the area," Sam said.

            Dean looked at Sam, "Research the area?  Since when do we do that?"

            Sam had gotten up and started packing his stuff.  He turned to his brother and his deceased father figure, "Because of the psychic detective agency that's extremely popular in the area.  Psych."

            Dean looked up at Bobby, then back to Sam, "Psych?  As in gotcha?"

            "According to the website, as in psych-ic," Sam answered.

            Dean stood up and began packing his things.  His brooding eyes shifted between Sam and Bobby.  He continued packing silently, signaling his brother that he was ready to hit the road.

 

Santa Barbara, Sunday 8:00am

            Lassiter sighed, scratching his right forearm.  Oddly enough, it had started itching at the crime scene.  Looking around, Lassie saw that, for the moment, he was alone.  Carefully, he folded up his right sleeve, revealing a giant red scar shaped like a backwards ‘F'.  The Mark.  His burden and curse.

            Hearing Shawn and Gus yakking in the background, he quickly covered up The Mark and started about his daily business.  No one knew the truth about him.  That Head Detective Carlton Lassiter was, in fact, Cain.  Of course, no one would've ever believed it anyway. 

            Shawn was looking through the case file of the murder two days before, partially listening to Gus' rant about yet another reference to the Supernatural books.  Apparently, Gus now believed that a werewolf was responsible for the girl's murder.

            "I was reading the books last night, trying to see if I could find any clues," Gus said.

            Shawn stopped and stared at his best friend in disbelief, "Seriously, Dude.  Enough with the Supernatural stuff.  Sam and Dean Wesson don't exist."

            "Winchester," Gus corrected. 

            "What?" Shawn asked.

            "He said Winchester," Lassie mumbled.

            Gus looked over at the detective with shock, "You read the Supernatural books?" he asked loudly.

            The vast majority of people in the police department turned and stared.  Lassiter stood there, glaring at Gus. 

            "No, I just overheard Guster.  You need to start listening to him, you know," Lassiter said grumpily. 

            Shawn blinked, "I listen to him all the time.  I mean, what he says in his sleep would give you nightmares."

            Gus turned to Shawn, "What are you talking about?"

            "Um, nothing," Shawn said, looking back at the case file.

            "Shawn," Gus warned.

            "Spencer!  Guster!  Conference room!  You too, Detective," Karen said as she came out of her office.

            "Be right there, Chief.  I just want to put this file back on Juliet's desk," Shawn said, waving the file for her to see.

            "Hurry up.  This is important about that murder last night and the missing person," Karen said.  She disappeared into the conference room behind the rest.

            Shawn pulled out his phone and turned it on.  He scrolled down his contact list and stopped for a moment on a certain name.  He then shook his head, put his phone back in his pocket and went into the conference room.

            Dean and Sam pulled into the Sunrise Motel parking lot, after driving the eight and a half hours from Reno.  They climbed out of the '67 Impala and looked around, stretching out all the kinks from their trip.

            "Well, Sammy, we're here.  Let's get the stuff inside and head out to the police department," Dean said, reaching into the trunk protected by spells and symbols. 

            He pulled out the green duffel bag filled with different things from their "line of work", which included a sawed off shot gun, bullets full of rock salt, hex bags and other assorted goodies.  Somewhere in there was a change of clothes. 

            Sam grabbed out the two "Agent" suits that were folded carefully under the false trunk.  The fake badges were kept in an old cigar box; which he grabbed as well. 

            "Are we going FBI, Game Wardens or what?" Sam asked the minute they had locked the door to their room. 

            "FBI.  We can use the missing person element to gain access into the murders," Dean said.

            Sam nodded in agreement, taking out the FBI badges and placing the rest away.  He went into the bathroom to shave and make himself look like an agent.  Dean did the same using a small mirror.

            Twenty minutes later, the boys got back into the Impala and drove the five miles to the SBPD, dressed to the nines and making themselves look professional. 

            "Okay, according to the reports, the victim's heart was completely gone, but the strange thing is..." Sam scrolled down, "There was no remaining flesh, muscle or blood from the head down."

            Dean glanced over at his brother, "That doesn't sound like a werewolf.  That sounds a bit more like,"

            "A Leviathan," Sam finished with a sigh. 

            "No.  Nothing would've been left behind.  A vampire?" Dean asked.

            Sam searched, "According to the archives, it could be a number of things.  We'll have to dig deep into the Men of Letters files."

            "You think he's going to be here?" Dean suddenly asked. 

            Sam looked over at his brother in confusion, "Who?"

            "You know, him.  The guy we met a while back in Des Moines?  The weird guy who seemed a bit squirrely until we tested him?" Dean prodded.

            Sam leaned back and thought.  For a few minutes, he ran people through his head, until he finally realized who Dean was talking about, "Oh, him.  Why would he suddenly pop in your head?"

            "Didn't he say he was from this area?  Or somewhere nearby?" Dean asked as they got out of the Impala. 

            Sam shut his door before answering, "I think so, but I'm not sure."

            "Well, what would be the chances of running into him here, anyway?  He hates cops," Dean stated as they began their ascent up the stairs to the SBPD.

            "Have we got names?" Sam asked.

            "Just follow my lead, Little Brother," Dean said with his famous smile.



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