Author's Note: Weellllll, hello out there, lol. I think it has been...hmmmm about...a month or something like that...hell im not sure..getting crap mixed up well..here's a new chapter for AIACR...sorry thats what I put in my Docx for the chaps when I post. Well, here ya go! Hope you like it. And sorry abt all the POV changes. And if your wondering why John is kinda OOC here is bc, how do you think he would act if he had a daughter, too? He would treat her waaayyy different than that of the boys, right? And if your wondering about Dallas. I have no idea about him either...just random. Maybe he might come into play later in the story. On Mibba I even added character pages for Jake and Denny...Idk why...but I guess they are gonna be in here somewhere again, ya know? Well, enjoy...this relatively long ass author's note!

~CalicoKahlia

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, or it's characters or anything that I might/may use (dialogue, or moments from the show, etc.)

Read, Rant && Review! :D

Reviews-Ch.3:

1)SPN Mum-I KNEW IT! It WAS a Wendigo! :P

I don't know who or what Echo's mom is, but she obviously got her 'powers' from her. Sam doesn't scare easily, so he will still be friends with Echo, I'm sure. Maybe something more too? lol It will be fun to see them get to know each other better.

Thanks for the update. I hope it goes well, with you writing the story on your own now. I look forward to more. :)

Me-Hey, lol, it was. I remember messaging you about it before. How it was supposed to be something else and then I changed it when I became the only writer. And Echo's mother? About that...well...you will all see soon. Who or what Echo's mom is..or was...dont know yet. Hell, I don't even know. Jk I know but, I'm just gonna make you sweat(: and about her powers? Obviously from mummy because seriously...john is badass but he aint that cool! lol Sammy knows whos good and whos bad, i think, so I agree with you. And something more for them...Oh one can only hope! Here is the more you were looking forward to!

2)Carver Edlund- loved the chapter! i wonder if sam is going to tell dean everything that really happened, or just that the hunt is taken care of? and echo has a really mysterious past that i cant wait to learn more about!

Me-Well, Sam, here is feuding with himself over that. Thinking about his safety if Echo is bad(not telling dean), and Echo's safety even if she is good,(telling him), if ya catch my drift. oh echo has been through alot and some of the crap she doesnt even know where it came from, e.g. powers. lol. Hopefully In the next few chapters, you can learn more about who echo is and where she came from. Enjoy!

Well, that's all folks! Hope you enjoy this chapter! And, P.S. as a little note-like thing, you can learn more about the story by reading other's reviews, maybe asking questions that you didn't and even my replies above!


**Third Person**

"So somewhere along the line I stopped being your father. And I became your drill sergeant." John had once said. Sam hasn't a clue why it is being repeated in his head now. But, it is. And he has a feeling that it means something. Something is not right.

Sam breaks out of his reverie and walks in the motel door and is eyed by a very smily, obviously drunk Dean.

"So, where ya been? I been workin' this case and your off with some dude!" Dean slurs out. It takes all that Sam is not to laugh. Dean in his drunkest phase, when he's not passed out.

"Dean, you were at the bar," Sam says, sitting down reproachfully on his bed farthest from the door. "And by the looks of this place, you weren't the only one to come back here, afterwards. You know that I was gone to the thing in the woods. And ends up, we aren't the only hunters here. Nevermind, I'll wait until your sober to tell you the rest. Anyways, it was a Wendigo and it's dead, now. So, goodnight, Dean."

"What are you saying goodnight to me for? It's nine in the morning! Who else is hunting? Wait, it's not hunting season!" Dean exclaims, chest bouncing a little from where he lies back on his bed. Sam shakes his head and walks into the dimly lit bathroom. He peels off his damp shirt; the one Echo had worn. His jacket lay abandoned on the table in the main room.

How was he going to tell Dean about what Echo had done? Was he even going to tell him? He already said there were other hunters, but does Dean really need to know that it was her? Sam was feuding in his head; caught between telling the truth and somehow protecting Echo herself.

He sighed, too tired to think anymore. After taking off the rest of his clothes, Sam stepped into the shower, waiting for it to heat up. Hopefully, he'd dream about what he was going to say to
Dean when they woke up.

**Echo**

"God, you are insane. Of course you're not a monster. You have a human body and breathe and eat and pee. Your completely human. No, not completely. You have your powers. You're a superhero!...Who is insane. Because talking to yourself is a sign of insanity. And you are still doing it...Damnit..." Now, I'm talking to myself? And arguing? What the hell. I really must be messed up. I grab my bag out of the car and shut the door behind me. The night air breaches it's way through the dampness of my tee. My bikini seemed to soak the front of the shirt. Perfect circles. It looks like I'm leaking. I shake my head and unlock my motel room door. I throw my bag on the floor and check the salt line. I forget the door isn't completely closed and peel out of my t-shirt, earning a whistle from a passerby on the walkway in front of the rooms. I snark my lip and shake my head a little. People.

After a quick, cold, shower I pull on a bigger, dry tee and slip into bed. Who cares what I wear? I'm the only one here. I reach for the light mounted on the wall and hear a faint buzzing. I left my cell in the drawer on the nightstand. I quickly sit up, and no matter how un-lady-like it is, I cross my legs, covering my lowerself with the long tee and part of the cover. I open and reach into the drawer. Eight missed texts, twelves missed calls, and five voicemails. All from Dad. Wow, he needs to have a little less free time. I scroll through the texts: 'Where are you's' and 'Are you okay's', 'Call me's'. The works. So are all the voicemails. God, Dad, way to be overprotective.

I go to recent calls and select his name from the list. I look at the phone for a second before pulling it to my ear, hearing the standard 'brrriiiiinnnggg' shrill in my ears. I let it ring once, then hang-up, re-dial, let it ring four times, hang-up, re-dial, and let it ring three more times. After the third call, third ring, he picks up. It's my way of telling him it's me and I love him when I call. 1 ring-1-I, 4 rings-4-Love, 3 rings-3-You. I know it's cheesy but, it's our cheese. It deserves to be gooey. Oh, now I'm hungry. I giggle and listen.

"Hey, babygirl."

"Hey, dad," I say, smiling. It's good to hear a familiar voice.

"Are you okay? Why didn't you call? Did something happen?" He shoots the questions at me. My smile gets wider and I play with a stray string on the covers.

"No, daddy, everything's fine. Here, lemme give you the rundown, okay, so, first..." I run through everything that has happened so far. Not leaving out a single thing. From school, to the football game, to the woods, the other hunters, Wendigo, me having to use my powers. Everything.

"I-I," He falters and my brow creases in concern. I drop the string that dangled in my fingers.

"Dad, are you okay? What's wrong?" I ask, sitting up straighter for some reason.

"It's okay, honey. It's just, I didn't know there were other hunters. Your in Albuquerque, right?"

I nod, knowing he can't see it and say, "Yes, sir."

"Alright, I'm not that far away; I'll be there sometime tomorrow."

"Why, what's wrong?" I ask, getting more worried.

"Nothing. I just-I-I have to go, I'll call you when I'm there." The line goes dead. I pull the phone from my ear and stare at it for a moment while the screen flashes 'call ended' then goes dark. I shut it and clutch it in my hand. My other hand reaches for the light and I roll over in bed. Something is not right here. And that's not my special intuition telling me that.

**Third Person**

John's fingers fumbles over the 'end' key and he hangs-up and speed-dials Dean.

"Dad?" Sam's voice rose through the tiny speaker, groggily.

"Sam. Something has come up. I'll be in town tomorrow. You and your brother just stay put and keep low. Something's wrong."

"What, what's wrong? What are you talking about?" Sam asks, sitting up, fully alert now.

"We, you and Dean and I, we need to talk..." John hung-up. Sending a last text to Dean's phone. 'Be there, noon. Don't worry.' He turns the phone off and rubs a hand across his face. He was hoping this wouldn't happen.

Sam gets out of his bed, moving over to the dual lamps mounted over a nightstand in the middle of the two beds. He flips both of them on and calls out to Dean. Dean stirs but doesn't awaken. Sam gingerly raises up an arm to shake his brother and miliseconds later is face to face with Dean's custom handgun.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. It's just me, Dean. Dad called." Sam says and Dean snaps up.

"What did he say?" Dean asks, rubbing his eyes.

"Something has come up and he's gonna be here around noon tomorrow."

"Why?" Dean asks and Sam just shrugs. "You didn't ask him. Come on, Sammy, really?"

"He was being shadier than usual, Dean. He wasn't gonna tell me anything then. He said we are gonna talk tomorrow."

"Okay, then. Off to bed, now." Dean says and falls back into the bed, slipping his gun under the pillow. Sam turns off the lamps and does the same. What did John have to talk about?

(BREAK)-(Still 3rd person)

It seems Dean was too drunk to remember the things Sam had told him when he had arrived last night. They both sit at the ends of the beds; Sam pulling at his boot laces and Dean idly flipping through channels.

Knock.

Dean pulls his gun out from his waistband and stands in front of the door, opening it a crack.

"Dad, hey," Dean says pulling the door open wider.

"Could we, go someplace else for this?" John asks, motioning to his two boys. John hasn't called Echo yet, informing her he was in town. He needed to talk to Sam and Dean first.

"Yes, sir," Dean says automatically as Sam gets up from his seat on the bed. They walk out and a few moments later arrive at what looks like a park. Benches and trees and grass; lively people milling around with dogs, courthouse and farmer's market, baby strollers. John takes a seat at the end of one bench and Dean sits at the other, leaving Sam to lean against the Impala.

"Well, boys, it seems that you aren't the only hunters here. Besides me, I mean. There is one more, as Sam here, already knows." John states and Sam leans up a little.

"You mean Echo?" Sam asks. How did his dad know about Echo?

"Wait, Echo is a hunter? No, way. That girl is too tiny!" Dean says, dismissing the whole idea.

"Well, she is, Dean. And there's more..." John states, leaning down and playing with his hands. He is always in action and first come first serve. A man of few words. But, fidgeting with his fingers and stumbling over sentences was not in his M.O. But, that's what he is doing.

**Echo**

I rub sleep-ridden eyes and sit up, checking my phone for calls or texts; anything from Dad.

Nada.

I lazily throw my legs over the side of the bed, accidentally knocking over my salt tin. Wow, empty already. I go to the bathroom and brush my hair, pulling on some casual clothes. Another band tee and some more skinny jeans. I lace up my shoes and grab the keys to the Chevy, tinkering with the random McDonald's toy key rings. I'm such a kid.

I head into the morning light and find my way to Main street. It's a great morning. Sunny and warm, unknowing of the horror the Wendigo caused last night. I pull over to the side of the road and park in a 'two-hour' spot. I feel like walking a bit. Stretch my legs after a night well done. I walk up to a grocery store, armed with a fake credit card. I need to replenish my supplies. I walk over to the condiments aisle and look for rock salt.

There is a teenage boy, stocking shelves. He's wearing a hunter's green apron and has straight skater boy black hair. He looks up and meets my eyes. He then makes a small smile. I can't help myself. It's in my nature. I kind of flip my hair over one shoulder and smile back. I swear he almost faints. It takes all of me not to laugh. I bend down on the shelf where I am and, all the way down. On my ankles, knees bent, my butt inches from the floor, I search for rock salt. There is none. Damn. I turn to the boy.

"Hey, um, could you help me really quick?" I ask, fidgeting a little to make the question seem genuine.

"Sure," he gets up and makes his way toward me, wiping his hands on his apron. His nametag reads 'Hello, my name is: Dallas.' I recognize him from study hall. He was sitting a few tables away from me and Sam reading and H.P. Lovecraft. "What do you need help with?"

"Well, I was looking for some like rock salt or whatever. My mom wants to make some homemade ice cream and she sent me to get some." The excuse is off my lips and into the air in a few seconds. I'm too good at the lying game.

"Oh, uh. Let me go see if we have any in the back, okay?" He says, flipping his hair and starting to turn around. I tap his shoulder. I want to be nice.

"You like H.P. Lovecraft?" I ask and he nods slowly, confused. "Oh, we have study hall together and I saw you reading one of his books yesterday. I have a mild collection of his, if ya want to like borrow one?" I don't know why I say it but it's just one of those times when you know that someone can use some friendly contact.

"Oh, well, sure, I guess. Let me go check on that salt for you," Dallas says, and turns around fully, stepping towards the end of the aisle and into some doors by the frozen food section. I stand awkwardly, hands in my pockets, scanning the shelves. Dallas comes back a few minutes later and hands me one medium-sized bag of rock salt.

"Sorry, it's all we had, but Andrew, the manager, was in the back and he said you can get some probably at the ice cream parlor shop thing at the corner down there," he nudges to the left with his elbow. I hurriedly grab the bag from his arms, hefting it onto my hip.

"Well, thanks, Dallas. You got like a number I can get a hold of you with? For the uh books?" I ask, laughing at myself, inwardly. I'm such a dork.

"Yeah," he says, pulling a pen and a tiny stock taking pad from his apron pocket. He rips off a corner and writes a number down setting it it my free hand. I slip it into my pocket and smile.

"I'll see you sometime, okay?" I say, starting to walk off. He says 'bye' back and I head to checkout. I pay for the salt then lug it down the corner where I buy some extra. One can never be unprepared. I walk down the sidewalk, by a park, on the opposite side of the street of where I first parked. I have two bags now. One carrying the bag of rock salt and the other carrying three canisters of it. It's getting kind of heavy, digging red indentions in my wrists.

Then I see him. Sitting on a bench with two other guys standing by him. I would know him anywhere. I walk closer, now ten or twelve feet away.

"Daddy?" I call.