Okay, so, I may have been a little sad and wrote some of this to be sad, too. But here's the next part. Not too exciting, but don't worry. We're going into S01E05 Bloody Mary after this. So it should be good. I hope. I loved that episode.

And maybe we'll find out something from Crowley while we're at it! The King of the Crossroads Demons has to know something, right?

So, as always, review if you've got the time and have anything you'd like to say. Maybe an idea for something I could add; maybe a compliment or complain, I don't care. All of it is good to me. Also, have you guys been catching any hints I've been dropping about the future of this? I've been trying very hard to be subtle. ;)


Garth stood outside of the yellow police tape, staring at the still smoldering remains of the rest stop. It was just after sunrise, the area basked in a warm orange glow. Off to the side he could faintly hear the two sisters crying in the back of an ambulance. He had found them barely even fifty feet into the trees surrounding the rest stop, both unconscious at the time. The man from the SUV had been taken a few feet more into the woods and had been completely eviscerated.

But that man wasn't the only casualty of the night. That female hunter that had never told him her name had also died. Well, he hadn't seen her actually die, but… he could remember her screaming before the glass of the window burst out over his head, flames suddenly shooting out and soaring high into the night sky. He had no choice but to run several feet away and watch as it consumed the rest stop he had been in. He heard the agonized wails of the wendigos as they all burned…

And now he watched as firemen combed over the blackened building. Only a few of its walls were still standing. He knew what they were doing. They were looking for any signs of a victim of the fire. It had only taken ten minutes after the fire began for the emergency crews to arrive. A fire was apparently a better beacon than he had thought. He had heard them talking as he left the two girls with the paramedics. There was no way anyone could have survived in a fire that burned as hot as it had, but he had still hoped it was possible.

So after watching for a few more minutes, wishing that by some miracle the woman he had met could just magically appear and walk out of the building, he opened the door to his Ford Ranchero and started it up. He couldn't stick around too much longer without the police claiming him to be a suspect for the arson, so he left out to go to the nearest safe haven he knew of: Singer Salvage.

A little over an hour later Garth pulled up the gravel driveway, passing by several dilapidated cars. He was hoping Bobby could help him figure out what exactly had happened last night.

But, unfortunately, Bobby was at a loss after Garth described it all to him.

"So you're telling me that this girl incinerated herself and three wendigos," Bobby shook his head incredulously and took another swig of an amber liquid from his cup, "What'd you say her name was?"

"I never found it out," Garth reminded him, frustrated at himself for being frustrated at all. He liked to try and remain as positive as possible at all times. "She said she had been hunting her entire life, though. And she knew you, I think. She was all for me getting a call out to you."

"And you're sure there were three wendigos? And a demon?" Bobby was eyeing the untouched beer in Garth's hands suspiciously.

"Yes," Garth repeated, trying not to sound as frustrated as he felt. The entire situation confused him. Sure, he was new at the whole hunting thing, but what he had experienced last night was just weird. "Look, maybe you've met her? She was pretty tall, brown eyes and hair, kept it in a braid, freckles; she was wearing jeans and a t-shirt with some combat style boots. Sound familiar? She said hunting was her family business. Apparently her Dad and brothers and Uncle also hunt. I mean, she's dead. And that sucks. And her family needs to be told. Right?"

Bobby was staring at Garth intensely, making Garth wonder if he had something on his face. "She said that? She said her family hunts?"

"Uh… yeah," Garth nodded, his brow creasing in confusion. Hadn't he just said that? "She said she did a haunting with her brothers in… California, somewhere, last week. Apparently it was the first time she had even met them."

Bobby gingerly sat his glass on the desk in front of him, swallowing back some saliva that had built up in his throat. His eyes were locked onto the barely rippling alcohol as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. He wouldn't cry; that wasn't something he normally did, but he was visibly shaken by what Garth had said. His lips were pressed together tightly. His entire being was stiff.

"Bobby?" Garth asked quietly, concerned for his still new friend and the man who had been teaching him about hunting.

"Alex," Bobby coughed a little, raising his eyes from the glass to Garth, a shadow cast over them by the bill of his trucker cap. "Her name is Alex. Was Alex. Alexandria Gabriella Winchester."

"So you… you knew her," Garth clarified, suddenly feeling very, very guilty.

"She, ah, damn it…" Bobby took in a shaky breath, pulling himself together. "That idjit," he mumbled softly, shaking his head. "I used to watch after her, when she was growing up. She took to calling me Uncle Bobby."

"Oh…" Garth spoke lowly, understanding and suddenly feeling like a big bag of dicks. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"She, uh…" Bobby sighed, shaking his head and standing. "She went out in a good way. She took out three wendigos with her. She probably saved hundreds of lives. It was a good death. I'm proud of her."

Garth also stood up, sitting his still full beer down. "I, uh… I'm gonna head out. I'm really sorry for your loss, Bobby. She seemed like a good person."

Bobby just nodded in response, watching Garth leave before slowly making his way to the wall where all of his phones were hanging. He had to do it. He knew he did. It was the right thing to do. But it didn't make it any easier.

Hell, he and John Winchester may not have parted on good terms, but he knew John loved that girl. Loved her just as much as his sons. Sure, Bobby felt like John could've treated her a little better, maybe actually introduced the kids to each other, but he couldn't convince John to do it. So Bobby did the best he could to give her as much love as he gave the boys. The kid needed it. She was all on her own out there. She had no brother to fall back on like they did. No father around to make sure she stayed safe.

And now she was gone. That little girl that Bobby could vividly remember sitting on his counter and bitching at him while he fussed over the knee she had scraped when she tried to jump off of a car. Sure, she had grown up and traded in the tiny pigtails for a braid and left behind the days of baggy shirts and shorts, but she was still just a kid to him. A kid forced into a life that ultimately got her killed before she could even experience most of it.

And so, with a final shaky breath, Bobby picked up a phone off of the wall and began dialing a number he had memorized so many years ago.

(Flashback)

Bobby stood on the old wooden porch in front of his house with John Winchester, holding a sleeping six year old girl firmly to his chest.

John Winchester was watching the girl sleep, obviously unwilling to have to leave her again, but knowing it was his best option. "Alright," he spoke, his gruff voice masking any emotions he may or may not have felt as he looked up at Bobby. "You have my number. Only call for an emergency. Larry and Lauren should be around in a few days to get her."

Bobby looked past John then, to the black Impala in the drive. He could barely make out the figures of two boys playing in the backseat through the blanket of rain that was falling from the sky. "John," he spoke up finally, looking back at the taller man beside of him. "Why do this? What harm could come from introducing them? She's your kid, too, you know. And she'd fit right in with those two idjits."

John's only reply was his typical one when Bobby brought this up. "Bobby, we've been over this. Alex is better off not spending a lot of time with us. It's safer for her."

And Bobby had replied with his own normal response. "Is it, though? How is it safer for her to be alone?"

And John had just shaken his head at that, stomping off through the rain and back to the Impala. "Call me only for an emergency," he called over his shoulder, yanking the door open and getting in before speeding off.

Bobby watched the car until it pulled around the corner, a frown ruling his features as the rain grew softer around them. The smell of rust and wet dirt wafted around them after the Impala had left.

Slight stirring in his arms caused him to look down at the little girl in his arms. She was peering up at him curiously, her doe brown eyes wide and confused. "Uncle Bobby?" she had questioned him, lifting her head to look around at where they were. "Where's Daddy?"

"Yer Dad's gone off on a hunt for a few days," Bobby had instantly replied, feeling his heartstrings tug helplessly as she re-positioned herself to wrap her arms around his neck.

"Why's he always gotta leave me behind?" she had asked him, burying her face into his neck despite the rough whiskers there. "Does he not like me?"

And that had near about broken his heart. He had taken her in after that, sitting her on the counter in the kitchen and looking her eye to eye. "Alex," he had begun before abruptly stopping. What was he supposed to say? 'Your Dad's the biggest dick I've ever met'? "Your Dad, he loves you. You know that. He's just watching out for you."

"But Uncle Bobby," Alex had continued, tears welling up in her eyes. "If he loves me how come he doesn't want me to meet my brothers? Are they specialer than me?"

And was what propelled Bobby to make one of the easiest decisions of his life. The kid in front of him was already feeling things she shouldn't have had to so young. So he did what he had to. There was no way in hell he was gonna let this kid think she was any less important than anyone else. Especially not when she still thought 'specialer' was a word.

"Alex, I can't speak for your Dad here. It's something he'll have to tell you one day, because I just don't know. But I do know this: you're just as important as those boys are. You hear that? And hey," he gently poked her nose, smiling at her as he saw her little frown curving up. "You're a heck of a lot prettier than them, too."

Alex's giggles reverberated through the room and absolutely melted his heart. She was just six years old. He hated that she was growing up this way. So he was going to do everything in his power to give her some semblance of a childhood.

"Hey, you wanna go out for some ice cream and a movie?"

(End flashback)

The phone rang out four times before it skipped over to voicemail, Bobby grimacing the whole time. Would it have honestly killed that man to answer the phone one time? But of course not. So after John's normal rant about leaving messages, Bobby began to speak. "John, it's Bobby. Bobby Singer. I'm, uh…" Bobby paused, clearing his throat. This was the one phone call he never wanted to have to make. "Look, I'm calling because I just found out that Alex…" he took another second, feeling a sudden anger rise in him. "Damn it, John! Why did you have to be such a damned fool?" Bobby cursed him, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She's dead, John. Alex is dead. She got cornered in some rest stop outside of Sioux City, Iowa, by three wendigos and a demon. It was just her and some green-behind-the-ears kid who thought he was hunting a spirit. She took 'em out with a bomb or somethin', apparently…" Bobby groaned, shaking his head in exasperation. "The whole place burnt. Her included. They couldn't find any remains." And, with nothing else to add, he hung up; his message ending on a sour note.

Less than five minutes later and three states away, in a dimly lit motel room, John Winchester sat back in his chair, staring at the phone in his hands. He had recognized the number when it rang, so he didn't answer it. Bobby Singer was at the bottom of his list of people he wanted to talk to. The top of the list were his children; all three of them.

But when his phone pinged to let him know that Bobby had left a voicemail he had to listen to it. The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach only continued to grow as he heard the beginnings of the message, wishing Bobby would just spit it out already.

And then he did exactly that.

And John Winchester, the man who had practiced steeling his emotions for decades, sat as still as a rock in his chair, staring at the phone in his hand as if he could will it to jump up and scream 'April Fools!' at him. Even though it was November. He numbly gazed around the motel room at the various papers hanging on the walls, not really seeing them as he did. He had just received one of the worst phone calls of his life. His daughter was dead. The child he had tried so hard, at first, to avoid becoming attached to. She had died. Alone. Facing down three wendigos and a demon.

And she had died in a fire. He sat upright at that realization. A fire. And a demon. Those two things had killed his daughter. And his wife. Sure, the two weren't related, but they were both important women in his life. And he may not know exactly how his daughter went out. But his youngest son's girlfriend had just been killed the same way as Mary had. The cards were lining up to point at the same culprit: the yellow-eyed demon.

John Winchester had more incentive now than ever to find that yellow-eyed sonuvabitch. And he was going to do it alone. He couldn't risk his last two kids being killed, too. One was bad enough. So he made the decision, then and there, to not tell his sons about their sister. Hell, they had only just met her. They didn't need to know she was dead.


The blackened ruins of what was once a normal rest stop stood solemnly in the sunrise. The fires had burned out three days ago. The yellow caution tape was still surrounding the area, but it was deserted. Devoid of all life.

Or, it was. A sudden, sharp noise pierced the area in the quiet dawn, followed by multiple bouts of coughing and sputtering as slowly, from the ashes, a body emerged; it was female, completely naked, and completely covered in soot.

Alex continued to cough and sputter as she came to, scrambling to stand up as she realized where she was laying. Everything around her was in ashes. And she was covered in ashes, she quickly noticed, looking down at her body. And her clothes were gone. Again.

Her lungs felt as dry as bone as she coughed again, carefully walking out of the mess up wood, stone, and charred remains of the building. She needed something to drink. Desperately. But the whole place was deserted.

"I died… again," she spoke out loud, more of an affirmation to herself than anything else. She remembered the flames as they burst out of her. She was conscious as she was burning to death. She had seen all of the wendigos die. And then she had died. From smoke inhalation.

She only made it as far as the first tree that hadn't been touched by the flames before she collapsed onto her knees, breathing heavily and wiping at the soot covering her mouth and nose. It was a fruitless endeavor, though. She was just completely blackened.

Alex pulled herself back to lean against the tree, pulling her legs up to her chest to cover her torso and wrapping her arms around them. She was still coughing, apparently trying to hack out a lung or something, but it was slowly evening out. So she rested her head against the tree, closing her eyes momentarily as the sun warmed her dirty face.

And then she heard the snap of a stick off to her left, immediately sending her into a panicked action as she turned to try and find out what it was.

Instead of the wendigo she had almost convinced herself it was going to be Alex found herself staring up into the very curious face of the same well-dressed demon she had met shortly after she died the first time.

"Well, isn't this a curious sight?" his Scottish accent drawled out, crouching down to her level with Alex. "What do we have here?"

Alex stared up at him, searching his face for any signs that he may be up to no good, before she suddenly snorted out a laugh. That definitely caught him off guard as he leaned back on his heels, brows furrowed as he stared at what he was now thinking was an absolutely insane human.

Her laughter subsided into coughing once more as she leaned over her knees, still held tightly against her chest. "It's funny," she began, breathing somewhat normally again. "I've died twice now. And you've shown up after both. And I know for a fact that you're not involved, Mr. Red-Eyes. I could also just be delirious. Pretty sure I've still got a hell of a lot of carbon monoxide floating around in me."

"Well, you've certainly taken tanning to a whole new level," Crowley remarked as he recognized her underneath all of the soot.

Alex snickered at that, shaking her head. "You're much funnier than I recall," she said offhandedly, breaking into another fit of coughing.

Crowley didn't respond, instead he watched her closely. She was absolutely covered in filthy ash. And when his eyes wandered over to the blackened remains of the rest stop and back to her, one of his eyebrows raised with his curiosity. "So, kitten, what happened here?"

"Beelzebub showed up and he threw three wendigos at me and I forced myself to spontaneously combust. Now I'm alive again, but I think my lungs are covered in soot." She answered his question in a short spurt, which only made his interest in her grow more.

"Beelzebub, you said?" Crowley asked for clarification, a small idea forming in his head as she nodded. "And you, what? Created that fire? And you've died twice now?" When she nodded twice more his idea had slowly grown into a plan. A cunning, conniving plan that had him smiling already.

"Beelzebub killed me this time and Astaroth killed me last time," Alex shook her head, flakes of ash falling away from her matted hair. "You killing me next? 'Cause if you are, I'd appreciate something with more taste. Maybe some way that I'll come back and actually be wearing clothes."

So maybe Alex was taking this a little too calmly. Or she was in shock. She decided on the latter as she watched Crowley's eyes travel away from her face and to the silhouette of her nude form.

"Well," Crowley smiled again, putting a hand on her shoulder. Without warning Alex felt like she was being tugged in all different directions before it stopped and they were in a very fancy looking bathroom. If she had felt overwhelmed before it had nothing on this. "Why don't you go ahead and get cleaned up, kitten. I'll find some clothes for you."

"You're a demon," Alex spoke immediately, frowning up at him as she kept her legs closed around her tightly. It was a vain attempt to try and keep her modesty. "A crossroads demon. You're working on some sort of a hidden agenda."

Crowley shrugged, standing back up. "Well, kitten, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but… You're in my house now." His voice had become borderline menacing at that, and his form towering over her just intensified it.

"So, wait," Alex frowned, glancing around and then back at him. "Did you just… you just kidnapped me."

"More like I've temporarily removed you from the outside world," Crowley amended for her, stepping around her and out of the door. "Clean yourself up. Try to escape and it won't be pretty."

Alex groaned as the door slammed shut and she heard a lock slide into place from the outside. Great. Out of the fire and into the frying pan, this time around. But at least she was through with coughing. And, honestly she was starting to become accustomed to this weird shit. So she stood and moved to the large shower in the corner, relishing in the relative safety of the room as she took her time cleaning up.

A solid thirty minutes later she heard the door open again and she tensed, using a not soapy hand to clear away steam so she could peek out.

"Just me," Crowley winked at her when he saw her looking, hanging up a small bag and a much larger bag on hooks by the door. "You're taking forever."

"I was covered in soot," Alex reminded him, rinsing off the rest of the lavender scented soap from her body. "I took my time cleaning it off. Sue me." She cut the water off, barely opening the door to peek out for a towel.

"Looking for this?" Crowley asked her, both eyebrows raised suggestively as he held the towel across the room.

"Seriously?" Alex asked him, groaning and rolling her eyes as she opened the door the rest of the way and ventured out to get the towel. She knew he was looking over her still wet body. She knew he was relishing in this. But considering the shit she'd been through in the past week she forced herself to care as little as possible about it. She yanked the towel out of his grip with a little more force than necessary, which elicited another grin from him.

"Oh, kitten, the things I would do to you," he winked, leaning up against the sink as he watched her dry off.

"Never going to happen," she enunciated clearly, glaring at him as she wrapped the towel around her and held it in place. "Why am I here, Red-Eyes?"

"Crowley," he rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "My name is Crowley. And you're here because I brought you here. Or were you too out of your mind when that happened?"

"I remember that, smartass," Alex shook her head, growing annoyed with the situation now that she felt more like a person again. She moved over to the larger of the two bags he had brought it, unzipping it to reveal a very red dress. "I am not wearing this."

"What other choice do you have?" Crowley smirked, smug as he watched her move on to the smaller bag.

The smaller bag held very a provocative and lacey underwear set, the bra and panties matching. "Seriously?" she asked him, holding one up in the air. "You're a dick."

"Get dressed," he ordered her, moving off of the sink and towards the still open door. "We'll move on to more important matters afterwards."

"'More important' my ass," Alex grumbled after him, reluctantly letting the towel drop as she begrudgingly pulled on the underwear and dress he had gotten her. She felt like a two-bit demon whore as she brushed out her hair, tugging at the knots until they loosened out and formed loose curls. But it wasn't as important as figuring out why this Crowley had taken her in the first place, so she let it slide as she exited the bathroom.

She gazed around the room she entered and almost whistled at how rich it looked. She'd bet, based on the dimensions of this room alone, she was in some mansion right now. And this room was a bedroom. The bed had four posts and was a deep mahogany wood, and the blankets on it were a very soft looking satin in a hue of red that nearly matched the dress she had on. She was starting to get a feeling that this demon had a thing for red. Which probably included blood.