It was dark; at best it was around 11 o'clock at night. In a small town in the middle of nowhere, a young woman was closing the bar. She was around 27, blonde, with her hair tied up untidily as she scrubbed down the tables. She was the only one left in the bar so she had AC/DC blaring from the jukebox at higher the recommended volume. She used to drown out her own thoughts, which were, at the moment, how much she hated this job. She helped herself to a beer and leant against the bar, closing her eyes and drowning in the beat of the music. A groan made her freeze. She slowly turned and rolled her eyes, "Oh for the love of…Bob!"

A man, approximately 47 years of age, was curled up in the corner hands covering his ears and muttering about 'trash music'. The woman impatiently turned off the jukebox and stormed over to him. With alarming strength, she lifted the man under the armpits and led him towards the door. "Come on sexy, another round and we'll get to know each other" slurred Bob, as he buried his nose in her breast. Wrinkling her nose in disgust, she kicked open the door of "The Hearth" and threw the man out in the gutter. He grunted with pain as he landed. The woman put her hands on her hips and sighed "Honestly, you're a nice old man, and yet you're a complete ass when you touch the liquor, and by the way…Eww! No way, despite what some people say, I have taste!" She walked back inside, leaving the man to his mother of a hangover. She took up her beer and settled back in her bar stool.

A terrified scream sounded from above. She dropped her beer, barely hearing the smashing glass. Sprinting up the stairs, she ran into room 11, where the continued screams were emanating. The sight that met her eyes would haunt Melanie Winchester forever. A mother was kneeling in the middle of the living room eyes staring upwards. Pinned to the ceiling in an achingly familiar way were her two 3 year old children. Melanie swallowed as her gaze fell on the wall behind the mother. Words written in the children's blood stated

'You're next, Melanie Winchester'

Dean was shocked to day the least. It had been years since she'd contacted him…years! He never forgot about her, he often heard her voice in the back of his head when he was making a bad decision. But 8 years seemed like a life time. He used to receive calls, email and text messages from her every other day, but after a couple of months even that died out. Dean glanced around the dingy hotel room once more. It was around 3 o'clock in the morning, darkness had already consumed Addison, Wisconsin, and Sammy was sound asleep. He looked back onto Sam's glowing computer screen and just stared in wonder. An email, from Mel?

Dean,

It's been, well, too long since we last spoke. But this is an emergency. There's something here, in Double Oak, and it's big. I mean huge, dude, and I need you're help. You have no idea how guilty I feel about contacting you just for a job but, this is important, and I can't handle it on my own. It's killing kids, one was just a baby, with no links, no evidence, and no information that I can find. The only thing that is the same is the way they're dying. Dean, they're dying exactly like mom, and at every scene, there's a message left…for me. I'm getting interviewed by the FBI and I need help getting out of this own. We'll definitely talk when you get here, if you decide that you want to. Just let me know either way, Dean.

Bye Dean

Don't tell Dad

Love

Mel

Dean shook his head, it was all too simple, yet far to confusing for him to even comprehend. 'Don't tell Dad'? Why? And why hadn't she spoken to him before? Dean ran his hand through his hair and started to type.

Never took you to be a speech writer. Of course I'll be there, ASAP. Stay out of trouble 'till I get there understood? And, begging? Really? Idiot.

Dean

Scratching his chin, he stood up and roused Sam. Sam groaned and dug his head deeper into the scratchy motel/hotel pillow. "Come on, Dude" snapped Dean as he paced around the room, throwing his things into his bags. Sam stood up and pulled on yesterday's jeans. "What happened, what came up?" asked Sam, startled to alertness by Dean's agitation. Dean didn't reply straight away, too busy running into the bathroom and grabbing his tooth brush and razor. "Dean?" asked Sam, more forcefully this time. Dean met his eyes, and threw his pack into his chest.

"Sam, move your ass. Melanie's in trouble" Sam's questioning gaze fell. Dean watched as Sam's face slowly but surely filled with sadness and, to Dean's dismay, hate. Silently, but every movement screaming unreleased frustration and anger, Sam packed up his own stuff. Dean sighed and closed his eyes as Sam stormed past him and out the door. He was not in the mood for Sam's crap. He muttered "Bitch" and slammed the door of their room behind them. Throwing their packs in the trunk of the Impala, Dean roared the engine into life, and gunned down the highway, breaking ever traffic law in, possibly, every state. Dean was reckless when he worried, and right now, his mind was going over Melanie's demise or arrest in slow motion.