Elizabeth has decided the best way to pass the time is by listening to her iPod with her earbuds in and the volume all the way up. She decided this because the boys have been arguing for two hours about the coordinates John sent that morning and it doesn't look like they'll stop any time soon. She glances up from her magazine, taking one earbud out.

"—real smartass," Dean's saying. "I'm sure there's something in Fitchberg worth killing." The earbud goes back in and the new argument is drowned out by Britney Spears. She'd much rather listen to that than Dean and Sam's constant bitching. She'd done just as much research as Sam and found nothing in Fitchberg worth their attention, but obviously John spotted something interesting. The man may be a world class jackass, but he knows his stuff.

"My loneliness is killing me," Elizabeth sings, off-key and loud. "I must confess, I still believe!" The arguing stops as Sam turns in his seat to give her the stink eye. Naturally, she keeps doing the thing that makes Sam contemplate homicide. "When I'm not with you I lose my mind. Give me a sign. Hit me, baby, one more time!"

"Sing one more line of that song and I'm throwing your iPod out the window," Sam warns.

"Oh, baby, baby, how was I supposed to know—" Sam flings himself into the backseat, using the bulk of his weight to hold Elizabeth down while he wrestles for the iPod. "Get off! This isn't fair!"

"I warned you!" She brings her elbow up to catch him in the jaw, knocking him onto the floorboard long enough to stuff her iPod in her bra. "You really think that's gonna stop me? We used to take baths together." He lunges up again and Elizabeth throws herself over the bench, landing with her feet in Dean's lap and her torso on the floor.

"Suck a dick, Sammy!" His head pops up over the seat and he looks about ready to follow her over when Dean reaches down to grab the iPod without looking away from the road. Without pausing, he rolls down a window and tosses the iPod out onto the asphalt, hitting it with the back tire. "Hey!"

"He warned you," Dean says.

"I'm going to make it my personal mission to ensure you don't get laid for a week." Dean snorts, still not looking away from the highway. "Oh, don't pretend like I can't do it. You haven't slept with a straight girl in months, so it'll be cake to get them to sleep with me instead." He does look a little worried now and she gives him a wicked grin.

"Say what you will, but Dean's gaydar works really well," Sam says.

"I know, it's great." Dean slows down and pulls off to the side of the road before putting the car in park and cutting the ignition. He pockets the keys as he gets out, turning to watch as Elizabeth wriggles her way off the floor.

"I'm gonna go get us all some coffee and ask around. Maybe there's something weird going on that hasn't made the papers yet," he says. She nods, her and Sam getting out of the Impala as Dean runs across the street into Glasow's Lunch. The town of Fitchberg is quiet, that's the first thing Elizabeth notices. Quiet in the same way that Sleepy Hollow had been quiet when the headless menace was running amok.

"Something seem off to you?"

"Yeah," Sam nods. "It's weirdly quiet." She nods, gazing around for any sign of life. Normally she'd put all this down to the leaden sky that's threatening snow, the chill in the air, but…. It's something more than all of that, something's missing. She still hasn't been able to figure the weirdness out when Dean joins them again, pressing a cup of hot chocolate in her hand.

"The waitress thinks that the local Freemason's are up to something sneaky, but I got zip other than that," Dean says, shrugging. Elizabeth doesn't pay much attention to him, following Sam's gaze to the local park right across from them. It all slides into place when she sees the empty monkey bars. The only thing that makes a town this quiet is a lack of kids.

"What time is it?"

"Ten after four. Why?"

"School's out, isn't it?" Dean and Elizabeth answer him with a nod, watching as a solitary little girl plays on the slide. Her mother is on a bench a few feet from her and even from a distance, Elizabeth can see how tired the woman is.

"So why aren't there more little monkeys swinging around," Elizabeth murmurs. Dean grunts and takes Elizabeth's hand, tugging her after him towards the exhausted mother. She doesn't question him, just slides easily into the role of doting girlfriend.

"Sure is quiet out here," Dean says, drawing the mother's attention.

"Yeah," she nods," it's a shame."

"My girlfriend and I are new here, thinking about putting down roots. We pulled into town about five minutes ago and the first thing we noticed was the playground. We want kids, but not in a town that isn't safe for 'em."

"Oh, it's nothing like that. Fitchberg doesn't have much crime beyond some petty theft. This is…" She gestures with one hand at the playground and her little girl. "Well, there's a bug going around and the kids are susceptible to it, is all. Only five or six are actually sick, but it's serious enough to put them in the hospital."

"Oh, that's terrible," Elizabeth says.

"Yeah. A lot of parents are keeping their kids home, picking up homework from school for them to keep them safe."

"Could you tell us which hospital? Maybe we could volunteer, you know? Bring some stuffed animals for all of them." Elizabeth forces a sad smile, ignoring the way her stomach is clenching. "Stuffed animals always made me feel better when I was a kid."

"Dane County Memorial Hospital just on the other side of town. I'm sure the kids would love some stuffed animals." They make small talk for another few minutes and then make an excuse to leave, heading back to where Sam is standing by the car.

"Five or six sick kids in the hospital. I think John might have been on to something, after all." Sam sighs and gets in the car without a word, the other two following suit. They stop long enough to book a motel room and change into their Official Business clothes before heading to the hospital.

"Dude," Sam whines as they walk into the hospital. "I can't use an ID that says I'm a bikini inspector."

"Don't be such a baby," Dean says, shooting him a smile. "The nurse won't even ask to see it as long as you're confident." He shoves Sam at the nurse's station and walks a few feet away, watching the scene play out.

"Hi, I'm Doctor Jerry Kaplan from the CDC."

"Can I see some ID," the nurse asks. The color leaves Sam's cheeks and Elizabeth steps forward before he can blow this, holding out her own ID for the nurse's inspection. Doctor Elliot Reid has a flawless ID thanks to a buddy that actually works for the CDC and this nurse can inspect it all day if she wants. Instead of calling for security, she hands it back with a pleasant smile. "What can I do for you, Doctor Reid?"

"We're trying to find the pediatric ward," she says. "We caught wind of what was going on around here and we'd like to help if we can."

"Well, you just go down the hall, turn left, and then go up the stairs."

"Thank you very much. I'm sorry about my partner here, it's his first day on the job." Elizabeth claps a hand on Sam's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. The nurse waves it off with another smile, going back to her work as Elizabeth leads Sam away. "You're so lucky I'm here, Sammy."

"Oh, shut up," he grumbles. They don't make it far before they notice Dean is lagging behind, paused outside a patient's room with his brows furrowed. "Come on, man." He nods after a moment, hurrying after them as they start up the stairs. Much like the rest of the hospital, the children's ward is a depressing place with dark teal walls and endless hallways that double back on each other. You'd think they'd have cheery murals for the kids or at least some wall decals of Winnie the Pooh.

"Hi," Sam says, coming up to the next nurse's station. "My associates and I were pointed up here by a nurse downstairs. We're with the CDC and we'd like to speak to the doctor in charge of the outbreak." This nurse doesn't ask for identification, just points to a guy in his late forties with shaggy brown hair. "Excuse me, sir. Can we talk with you for a moment?"

"Can I help you with something," he asks.

"Yeah, we're with the CDC. We were sent out to see if we could assist you."

"Aaron Hydecker, pleased to meet you." They all shake hands and exchange names before Hydecker sets off again in the direction he'd been going. The hunters keep pace with him, letting him lead the way and talk. "I'm glad you guys are here. I was just about to call the CDC myself. How'd you guys find out?"

"Some pediatrician or another beat you to the punch," Dean says.

"I'm not surprised. A lot of these kids go to the same clinic and that's probably how the sickness started to spread. I've got six cases in the past five weeks and I was hoping it was just bacterial pneumonia, but…."

"But then the symptoms got worse instead of better," Elizabeth finishes. Something about that rings a bell, makes her fingers curl against her palms, but she can't quite say why.

"That's right. Their white cell counts keep going down and their immune systems aren't responding like they should. It's like their bodies are wearing out." Elizabeth frowns as she peers through the window at the sick kids, all of them gray and asleep. Most are on oxygen by now, IVs hooked up to give them medication and fluids.

"Have you seen anything like this before," Sam asks. Yes.

"Nothing so severe."

"The way it spreads is a new one for me," a nurse says. She hands a clipboard off to the doctor, meeting Sam's interested stare. There are bags under her eyes that are obvious despite her makeup, this woman is just as tired as the mom from the park. "It works its way through families, but it's only hitting the kids."

"Could we interview some of the kids," Dean asks.

"They're not conscious. Haven't been in about two days now."

"We'd like to talk to the parents if that's okay." Hydecker nods and hands the clipboard back to the nurse. "Who's your most recent admission?"

"That'll be Miles Tarnower's youngest daughter. I'll take you to him." The nurse leads them into the large room meant for infectious cases, stopping beside a man that's sitting between two beds. He's got one hand on the chest of each girl and Elizabeth remembers doing that when Lily was tiny. As long as she could feel a heartbeat under her palm, her world wouldn't tip on its axis. "Mister Tarnower, these three are with the CDC. They'd like to talk to you."

"I shouldn't leave my girls," he says with a rasp in his voice.

"I'll stay with them," a woman says. She's a pretty blonde, obviously the mom, and just as drained as her husband. Miles gives a hesitant nod, grabbing a Styrofoam cup from the tray table before following the hunters out into the waiting room. He drops into another chair like his legs can't support him.

"I'm sorry about this," Elizabeth says, sitting beside him. "I know this must be awful for you and we want to make this as easy as possible."

"What do you need to know," he asks. His eyes have sunk deep into his head, dark bruises beneath his eyes.

"Which of your girls was the first one that got sick?" He draws in a shuddering breath that Elizabeth feels in her ribs, knows the deep pain this man must be feeling.

"My oldest, Mary. We took her to the clinic first, but then her fever kept going up so we brought her here and my wife agreed to stay with her while I stayed with Bethany. I went to wake Bethany up the next morning so she could get ready for school, but she was so pale. I didn't even bother taking her to the clinic, I just brought her here straightaway."

"Were your girls around someone that had pneumonia? Maybe they caught it at school."

"We think it was an open window."

"Both times," Dean asks, voice a tad too sharp.

"I don't really remember the first time, but for sure on the second one. I closed it that night after Beth said her prayers and it was open again the next morning. She gets hot sometimes, I figure she opened it to let the breeze in."

"And you're sure that's the only way it could have been opened?"

"It's a second-story window without a ledge. Even if someone climbed up the tree, they'd have no leverage to open the window and get inside."

"Thank you for your time, Mister Tarnower." He nods and hurries back to the room, still clutching his cold coffee for dear life. They watch him go, letting the waiting room door shut behind him before sharing a look. "I think this is what Dad sent us here for."

"And I think now's the perfect time to check out the Tarnowers' house," Sam says. "I doubt either of them will leave their girls any time soon." They head out of the hospital at a fast walk, dodging curious nurses and the occasional doctor until they finally make it to the Impala.

"Hey," Elizabeth asks once she's in the backseat. "Is anyone else getting a major hit of Déjà vu?"

"A little," Dean says. "Maybe Bobby dealt with a case like this once." Elizabeth hums, leaning back in her seat as they head back to the motel. She's more than happy to exchange the black dress and heels for her street clothes again; black tank with a yellow crop top and a pair of jeans.

"Y'all ready?"

"As ready as we can be." The boys were able to change faster than Elizabeth, which is surprising given the length of their legs. Anyone that tall should struggle a little when pulling on jeans. "Sammy found Tarnower's address in the Yellow Pages, so we're good to go."

"Awesome." They head back to the car and drive to the house a few blocks from their motel, the boys going upstairs while Elizabeth sticks with the first floor. She's not down there long, she's just broken out the UV light when Dean calls her name from the top of the stairs. "Coming!"

"Hurry up! Sam found something." Elizabeth takes the stairs two at a time and finds the boys in a back bedroom. The room is nice, enough space for two girls to share without much fighting. Dean waves her over to the window, pointing at a handprint on the outside sill, the long fingers and narrow palm rotted into the wood.

"It's a shtriga." She remembers what those long fingers feel like wrapped around her ankle, keeping her from moving while Sam wasted away on the bed. She still has the crescent-shaped scars the thing's nails had left behind. "You know, suddenly that Déjà vu makes sense."

"What the hell's a shtriga," Sam asks.

"It's a subtype of witch," Dean says. "They're rare, Dad's only fought one of 'em and he wasn't able to finish the job. I think that's why he wanted us here."

"You really think it's the same one Dad hunted?"

"Like I said, he didn't finish it." Dean reaches out to grasp Sam's elbow, like he needs to make sure his brother is really here and not six feet under. Elizabeth doesn't blame him, she remembers the fear etched into his face that night sixteen years ago. "Let's get back to the motel and hit the books."

"Good idea," Elizabeth says. It's just starting to get dark when they pull into the motel's lot, parking outside their room and letting the headlights wash over the wide windows.

1989

John is seriously starting to regret agreeing to babysit while Bobby checks out a wendigo case. Normally he can handle Elizabeth and Dana, but he's starting to realize that they're only good in small bursts. Case in point, Dana and Dean arguing over which cassette to listen to.

"Good God, give me that," John snaps. He snags the box out of their hands before they can do any real damage to it in their game of tug of war, selecting a tape at random and slotting it into place. "What's the number one rule in the car, Dean?"

"Driver picks the music," he grumbles. The ten year old slumps down in his seat, one foot kicking restlessly at the door. John usually doesn't allow that, hates the scuff mark Dean's sneakers leave, but he'd probably be doing the same thing if it wouldn't look childish. Dana Mayson is a brat.

"What does the passenger do," Elizabeth asks. She's settled in the back with Sammy, little hands fidgeting with a book that she'd been reading for three hours. She has to catch snatches of streetlights now and John's managed to be consistent with finding them since reading shuts the kid up.

"Shuts their cakehole." Elizabeth giggles at that and Dean manages a pleased smile at making her laugh rather than scream. It's an accomplishment that earns him a clap on the back from John. "Are we almost there, Dad?"

"Just about," John nods. Fort Douglas, Wisconsin doesn't have much in the way of motels, so he pulls into the first one he sees. It's a shabby place, one visit from the health inspector would see it shut down, but it'll do for now. It'll be cheap at any rate. "Stay here while I go book us a room."

"Can I bunk with Sammy," Elizabeth asks. John turns in his seat to look at her, his resolve to say no crumbling under the weight of hers and Sammy's puppy eyes. It's not fair, it's downright bullshit that two kids could be so adorable. "Please, John? I promise we'll be good."

"Yeah, Daddy," Sam adds. "We'll even go to bed when Dean tells us to. Please?" It's the lip Sam pokes that ruins John, a heavy sigh leaving him as he dips his head in a nod. The two munchkins share a high five and a mischievous smile and John knows their promise was a lie.

"I'll be right back." He goes into the lobby, handing over the needed cash and a little extra to ensure there's not even a trace of smoke left behind from the last tenant. The kids are waiting patiently for him when he gets back, Sam and Elizabeth's heads bent together over the Magic Treehouse book while Dana and Dean are playing rock-paper-scissors for which of them gets the first shower.

"Ha," Dana laughs. "I win!"

"The little ones shower first." She pouts at that, but it's not nearly as effective as her sister's. Seven year olds seem to have the pouty face on lock and John's a secret softy. "Sammy, you and Liza get your stuff put up." Sam nods and tucks the book away in his backpack while Elizabeth stuffs the remains of a sucker in her coat pocket. He makes a mental note to throw the sucker away when she's in the shower.

The engine purrs and John circles the motel, parking in front of the only non-smoking room in the joint. As the headlights wash over the windows, John feels a shiver of premonition shoot down his spine. This is going to be a tough one.

2005

The motel room is nice and the water pressure is a blessing, working out the tense muscles in Elizabeth's shoulders. When she gets out, Sam and Dean are tossing lore back and forth like it's a tennis match that neither wants to lose. She rolls her eyes, stuffing her dirty clothes into a Walmart bag and then stuffing that into her duffle.

"Shtrigas take on human disguises when they're not hunting," Sam's saying. "They can be anything, but they usually prefer a feeble old woman, which might be how the whole witches-are-crones rumor got started."

"Mm, I still like the idea of the Triple Goddess," Elizabeth says. "Maiden, mother, and crone symbolizing the different stages of a girl growing into maturity and wisdom feels a lot nicer than some dude saying that old bitch killed our cattle, burn her."

"I don't blame ya."

"Hold up," Dean says, raising his hand to shut them up. "I looked up all the kids who have been targeted so far and the hospital was in the dead center. I also saw an old woman in the hospital."

"Hospitals tend to be filled with old people, Dean."

"Old people with an upside-down cross hanging in their room?" Elizabeth makes a doubtful sound, taking a quick step back when he gives her a bitchy look. "What?"

"It could be Saint Peter's Cross." She nods at Sam, but Dean doesn't look convinced. "Alright, we'll check it out. Liza, you wanna put your street clothes on?" She looks down at the cotton shorts and tank top she's wearing, then back to the boys.

"Nah, I'm confident that I can kill a monster dressed in my PJs," she says. "Dean can carry my pistol for me since I can't exactly hide it wearing this." She gestures at her pajamas, smirking at the way Dean's gaze lingers on her thighs. "My eyes are up here, Romeo."

"Yeah, but your legs are down there," he says, returning her smirk. "Ready to cave, Liza?"

"I told you your dry spell would last a week." His smirk drops into an exaggerated pout. "Come on, let's go accuse an old lady of witchcraft." Elizabeth pauses just inside the doorway of their motel room, turning to face the boys. "Huh, do y'all think this is how that Corwin guy felt right before Giles Corey cursed his ass?"

"Probably," Sam nods. She hums and heads to the car, climbing into the back like always. By the time they kill the yellow-eyed demon, this seat is going to have the perfect imprint of her ass in the leather. Hell, she's already got her initials carved into the rear deck beside Sam and Dean's. John had been so pissed at first, but then he started to laugh at the ragged edges of the DW SW EM.

The hospital has a deserted, creepy vibe clinging to it when they pull up. She thinks back to the Asylum almost six months ago, how vines had clung to its bricks and broken windows gazed out over the courtyard like bottomless pits. This hospital isn't rundown, it's actually well-tended to, but its aura is nothing good.

"You okay," Dean checks.

"I'll be just dandy as soon as we're done with this case, babe." He takes her hand and gives it a squeeze, tugging her with him towards a side door. It's still early enough that the door isn't locked, so they're able to steal inside without sounding the alarm.

"Goodnight, Doctor Hydecker," a nurse says. The hunters fall back a few steps, turning their backs to the T section until Hydecker passes. Once they can no longer hear his footsteps over the sound of a floor buffer, they start forward again until they stop outside room two thirty-seven.

"Make a Shining reference and I'll dump you," Elizabeth warns. Dean's smile falls away, turning itself back into a pout. She loves The Shining, would read it every day for a year if she could get away with it, but Stanley Kubrick's monstrosity is the only version Dean's seen.

"But it's the number."

"Mrs. Massey stayed in room two seventeen." Sam scowls at the door, waiting on the familiar argument to finish. "You're going to read the book one day, Winchester." Sam clears his throat loudly and Dean and Elizabeth give him the stink eye. "Don't you clear your throat at me, Sam."

"Yeah, that's just rude." Sam looks about ready to argue himself, but Elizabeth bumps him out of the way with her hip and opens the door. The old woman is seated in a wheelchair with her back to the door, long, white hair falling across her shoulders like a shroud. Elizabeth picks up the chart off the end of the woman's bed, reading over everything and making a low sound.

"Hello, Mrs. Black," Elizabeth greets in a cheery tone. "My name's Elizabeth and I was sent down here to check on you." She places the chart back, ignoring the frantic motions the boys are making.

"Those other pansies too scared to come in," Mrs. Black asks. Her voice is strong and a bit on the cranky side, milky eyes darting around until Elizabeth speaks again.

"That's right. They warned me you were something of a spitfire." Mrs. Black lets out a hoarse chuckle at that, her smile amused in a cold sort of way. "I guess they think you'll scare me since I'm the new girl."

"How old are you, Elizabeth?"

"Now here I was thinking it was rude to ask a lady her age." This gets her another laugh, Mrs. Black reaching out until Elizabeth takes her hand gently. "So, do you want some water? I could help you into bed if you like. You look pretty tired."

"Nah, I learned to sleep with my peepers open. If those assholes think I'm awake, they won't steal my things. Got all kinds of thieves around this place. Tell me, has anyone fixed my crucifix or is it still upside-down?"

"Still upside-down."

"Fix it for me and then go on with your rounds. Matter of fact, why don't you give those nurses a kick in the pants for me while you're at it?"

"You got it, honey." Elizabeth pats her shoulder before fixing the cross and walking out, the boys hurrying after her.

"How'd you know she wasn't evil," Sam asks.

"I read her chart. She's been in a nursing home for five years since she went blind and she wasn't admitted here until a week after the sickness started to spread." Elizabeth shrugs a shoulder, watching as the boys put away their guns. "It also helps that I've been working in nursing homes since I was sixteen. You tend to be able to sense whether a resident is cranky, plagued with dementia, or just plain evil pretty quickly."

"Yeah, you have a real gift."

"You're making fun of me, but what did I tell you about that one girl that stole all your socks Freshman year?" Sam grumbles something under his breath. "What's that? I didn't quite catch it."

"You said she was bad news. Can we head back to the motel now?"

"Hell no, I want a drink."