(Author's note: If you're familiar with iZombie you know Liv has visions that have dialogue in them but she is seeing them in first person POV. In thinking about this story I was trying to figure out a way to convey that so that my readers can keep track of what's going on since I will also be writing her internal thoughts. This is what I came up with. If it's bold italics it's a vision : regular italics is just an internal thought. Hope that makes sense. Onward and upward to greater things. Also, let's sort of pretend the Mark of Cain is not in play, go back a season or two when the boys were a bit less troubled shall we. So current timeline with Liv and a few years ago with the boys. Go with it. It's fanfic.)

FRIDAY APRIL 5th

Liv looked at the two corpses that were in front of her, "Not to seem ungrateful or like I'm becoming a brain snob but when my choice of dinner is either a woman that's been horribly mutilated or an Alzheimer's patient that got shot in a drive by I am not all that thrilled with my options. See horrible death or slowly lose my mind over the next few days while hoping it comes back and I remember who I am and where I work."

"Oooh new hashtag!" Ravi looked up from the corpse of the mutilated woman, "#firstworldzombieproblems." He favored her with an optimistic look, "Like it?"

"No. No hashtags, ever." She huffed and picked up the bonesaw. "I thought we already agreed on that."

Ravi shrugged, slightly disappointed she'd just shot down his rather clever idea. "I just thought it'd be fun to try to get zombie trending on twitter. No one would actually think it was real."

"Ravi, a hashtag defeats the purpose of secrets don't you think." She pointed out as she put on her goggles and sighed.

"Dinner choice made?" Ravi asked.

"What's another violent, disturbing set of visions in the grand scheme of things. Let's open her up."

Ravi nodded, the bonesaw powered on and bone dust started flying.

TUESDAY NIGHT APRIL 3rd

Sam was laying in bed, binge watching the original Law and Order on his laptop. It was his guilty pleasure that no one, not even Dean knew about. Even though he tended to figure out who did it about ten minutes in, the courtroom scenes, the legal jargon and the predictability of the show provided him an odd sense of peace and he'd get sucked into the show for hours. Things I never got to do before we found the Bunker. Not only do I have my own space but there's plenty of concrete and walls between Dean's room and mine so there's no chance in hell I can hear his damn porn, finally. His phone rang, and the number that popped up on his screen brought back a slew of rather intense memories, and not intense in a bad way. There was a smile on his face when he answered the phone, "Hi Sexpot." That'd been his nickname for Tracy, she'd earned it in more than one way.

"Sam! I need backup."

If the words didn't chase away the good memories, her tone did. Tracy was a hunter, a damn good one and she sounded scared and desperate. Neither of which she tended to be. She'd been born into the life like he and Dean, if she was scared it was serious. "What's up? Where are you?"

"Seattle. I was chasing a werewolf, or I thought I was. It's gotten complicated and I don't know what to do. I need help," She broke off and he heard a howl in the background.

"Get inside now!" He ordered. If he could hear the wolf it had to be close.

"I am inside! Shit!"

He heard a gunshot, a high pitched snarl that sounded like her shot had hit the wolf. She was breathing fast and hard when she spoke again. "Get here as fast as you can. I'm at..." She screamed, it heard like the phone dropped and the call went dead.

"Tracy!"

Seconds later he was pounding on Dean's door, "Get up! We gotta move now!"

The door flew open. Dean was in pair of sweats, toothbrush in his mouth and toothpaste trickling down the left side of his mouth, "What's got you so upset?" He mumbled while he kept brushing.

"Tracy got hit by a werewolf, she's in Seattle and I hope to Hell she's still alive when we get there. Get packed. Move!" He spun and started running back to his room, Dean's voice chased him down the hallway.

"Tracy? Tracy who?"

"Callahan!" He shouted over his shoulder. "Pack now, talk on the way."

"Calla...oh...Callahan," Dean mused. He had his own memories of her, which mostly consisted of her shooting him down repeatedly, laughing at his offers, giving him the most seductive smile she could and walking away to spend time with someone else. "Damn, hope she's okay." He finished brushing his teeth, packed as fast as he could and met Sam, who was already standing by the Impala pacing.

"She's tough and smart. She'll be fine," Dean said, trying to reassure his brother.

Sam didn't reply, just threw his bags in the trunk and got into the passenger seat. "No breaks. We're driving straight through."

"That was the plan," he replied. Baby's engine roared and gravel flew as Dean pulled away from the Bunker.

Two days later they crossed into Seattle's city limits, Sam hadn't been able to contact her and had been ceaselessly searching for reports of bodies in the local news.

"We're almost there Sam. We'll figure it out, I promise." He finally decided to ask the question that had been on his mind since Sam had pounded on the door, "I know she's a hunter and all but I didn't think you two were that close. We haven't seen her in years."

Sam shifted in the seat and looked away, "She called and asked for help, like I told you. That's all."

Dean wasn't buying it but he figured he'd find out one way or another some time down the road.

"Let's get a room and start calling hospitals tomorrow." Please be alive, please.