Sam wasn't really sure how they had wound up loitering outside Hannah's apartment block at 5am. Dean had assured him it was necessary and that he had a game plan but, looking at his brother leaning heavily against the wall, Sam wasn't convinced he was thinking straight yet. When Dean had shaken him from a dreamless sleep, Sam had been less than responsive to the older man's latest theory. It had been several weeks since Sam had managed more than four hours uninterrupted sleep and Dean's sudden enthusiasm for rising early was unwelcome in the extreme. He sighed dramatically and looked over at his brother once more.

"Remind me again why we're here?"

"Dude." It was more of a whine than Dean was aiming for but the implication was there. He had explained his theory to Sam in the motel and again in the car on the way over. Sam had raised his eyebrows, more in appreciation of the fact Dean had remembered the girl's address from his brief glimpse at the note Chris had shown, than in true exasperation. "Hannah's involved in this, Sam. I just know she is. And the only way to prove it is to get in there."

"But why now? Why in the middle of the night? She's more likely to be out during the day."

Dean just turned and smirked at Sam. He had no good reason for being here at this ridiculous hour and, if push came to shove, he'd admit Sam had a valid point. Chances were Hannah was tucked up in bed, fast asleep and the brothers' presence here was probably a colossal waste of time. But here they were, and here they were staying until Dean had scratched this particular itch.

"Sam. Just go with me on this one, okay? Please?"

"A witch though, Dean? Really?"

"Why not? Think about it, Sammy…"

"But Dean, you were attacked by a demon, not a witch. Totally different things."

"And where do witches get their power from?"

It was tempting not to answer, but Sam knew Dean would be even more insufferable if he didn't. Gritting his teeth, he tried to ignore the smug look on Dean's too pale face as he answered.

"From dark magic and satanic rituals."

"Exactly! Satanic rituals. Are you telling me there's no possibility they're mixed up in this together?"

"We've never seen it."

"We've never seen a lot of things. Doesn't mean they don't exist." And with that, Dean turned his attention back to the apartment block they were staking out.

"And we're here why, exactly?" Sam pressed. He could see Dean stifle a sigh as he threw his brother a look that would freeze hell itself.

"Because we need to get in there and check it out."

"Couldn't we have done that in the daytime?" Sam was cold and tired and his arm was starting to ache. He just couldn't resist pushing all the right buttons, fully aware they'd had this very conversation not five minutes ago. Dean just turned to his brother with a smirk.

"Could have done," he replied, "but where's the fun in that?"

Just as Sam was about to reply with a scathing barb about Dean and his definition of 'fun' he was distracted by a light going on in Hannah's apartment. Both Winchesters turned as one, just in time to see a silhouetted figure cross in front of what they assumed was the bedroom window.

It was clearly a woman but she was hunched over and shuffled slowly from one side to the other. They watched as she disappeared out of few, only for another figure to cross back, just moments later. This time there was no mistaking Hannah's distinctive outline in the window. Sam and Dean exchanged glances, Dean raising his eyebrows in silent question.

"Her grandma?" Sam suggested, although he didn't believe it for a second. "An aged aunt?"

Dean shook his head. "I'm guessing that's Hannah's alter ego." he stated and leant back against the wall, letting the dampness of the early morning seep through his jacket.

The apartment was plunged into darkness again and it was a safe assumption Hannah had moved to the rooms on the other side of the block. Less than ten minutes later the main door to the block opened and the Hannah they knew walked briskly out, head held high, clearly on a mission of some sort.

Sam knew Dean was torn between following the girl and taking the opportunity to check out her apartment. He could almost see the cogs whirring in his brother's head as his eyes flitted from the apartment to the woman's receding figure and back again.

"Go." he relented. "I'll see what she's hiding in there, you go see where she's off to."

Dean hesitated. He didn't want to lose the chance to prove he was right. He was convinced something in Hannah's home would have all the answers they were looking for, but he was riven with curiosity at the same time. She must have some pretty wacky plans to be out this early in the morning.

But he wasn't keen on separating from Sam. He wasn't so worried for himself, although if he were totally honest with himself he'd have to admit to not being at his best, but he had an ingrained fear of something happening to his little brother. It was irrational and ridiculous. He knew better than most how capable Sam was of looking after himself, knew how much damage he could inflict if necessary.

After what seemed an age, he nodded at Sam and pushed himself away from the wall. "Be careful, Sammy." he instructed.

"You too," Sam replied, watching as Dean sauntered casually down the street after Hannah. He suddenly wondered if he had sent the older hunter on the right mission. He hoped Dean would just watch and listen, not get involved in anything other than observation. It was a vain hope but his brother wasn't fully recovered yet, however much he tried to convince Sam otherwise.

Taking a deep breath and recognising his brother's stubbornness for what it was, Sam made his way over the road to the apartment. Gaining entry was easy for someone with his particular set of skills and it didn't take a genius to work out which apartment was Hannah's.

Silently letting himself in, Sam groped in his pocket for a flashlight. Flicking it on revealed a tastefully decorated hallway leading to several different rooms. Pushing open the first door to his right, Sam found himself in the living area. A quick look around revealed nothing and, with some reluctance, Sam returned to the hallway and the door leading to Hannah's bedroom.

Moving over the threshold, feeling a little bit like a stalker, Sam cast his eyes over the room. There was nothing extraordinary about the room but the bookshelf in the corner seemed somehow out of place to the hunter. He'd had piles of books when he'd been at Stanford but he'd always kept them out of the bedroom. Mostly, he had to admit, because Jessica had refused to have them in there. She'd said it didn't make for a restful room and she needed somewhere to get away from her studies.

Perusing the books, Sam wasn't entirely surprised to see the collection consisted mostly of ancient Greek and Latin texts, along with one or two spell books. He considered letting Dean know of his find, flipping his cell phone open with one hand while running a finger along the spines of the old books.

He had just brought his brother's name up on the screen and was about to hit send when a noise from the living area caught his attention. Snapping the phone closed Sam edged to the door, keeping close to the wall. Pulling his gun from its home nestled at his back, he closed his eyes briefly, concentrating on the noise coming from the room. He could hear footsteps and papers being shuffled.

He frowned. The noises didn't sound like someone who knew what they were looking for and there was too much noise for the intruder to be a professional. Deciding he probably had the advantage over whoever else was in the apartment, Sam swung round into the passageway and stopped, gun raised, in the doorway to the living room.

"Hold it right there," he commanded the figure currently browsing through Hannah's phone book. Hands were instantly raised and the man turned slowly.

"Please don't hurt me." he stammered and lifted frightened eyes to Sam's face. The recognition was instantaneous for both men.

"Chris?"

"Sam?"

*****

Dean followed Hannah from a distance, admiring the way her hips swayed as she walked and her hair danced in the breeze. She showed no awareness of the hunter behind her and Dean gave himself a mental pat on the back for his stealth. She didn't rush, but she was no slouch either. Dean found himself having to speed up a little every time she turned a corner in case she disappeared from view.

Eventually Hannah stopped outside the Lounge Bar. Dean ducked into a shop doorway to avoid detection and watched curiously as she took a view of the street before knocking at the door. A few moments later the door opened although Dean couldn't see who had answered. The light from within shadowed the figure at the entrance. A brief conversation took place and then Hannah slipped past into the interior of the club.

Waiting for the door to close, Dean made his way back onto the street. If challenged, he reasoned, he could say he was just passing. There was no reason for him not to be there, after all. Briefly trying the door, he ascertained it was locked from the inside and he would need to find another way in if he wanted to find out what Hannah was doing there.

The back of the club offered more opportunities and a small window afforded Dean an easy way into the building. As it turned out he landed in a cleaning cupboard, locked from the outside. He grinned. A cleaning cupboard had never held him back before and it wasn't going to be a drawback now.

Easily manipulating the lock, Dean slipped through the door, finding himself in a darkened service hallway which clearly ran behind the main bar. Taking a minute to orientate himself, Dean decided to head to where he assumed the offices were. Moving quietly along the corridor, his ears picked up the sound of voices coming from round the corner up ahead.

Pushing himself into the wall, he edged towards the end of the passageway. Taking a careful look round the corner he could just make out Hannah and a burly man engaged in a hissed conversation, one he couldn't quite hear the words to. Wondering whether to risk getting a bit nearer, the hunter decided it was probably worth it. Hannah and her companion were totally caught up in whatever their discussion was about.

Sliding round the corner, Dean took advantage of a convenient pile of cardboard boxes stacked up beside an office door. Clearly someone was on the move as the boxes were full of stationery and files. Peeking round from the safety of his cover, he watched with interest as Hannah opened her purse and withdrew a small package. She turned it over in her hand a couple of times before handing it over to the man in front of her.

Then she turned and smiled in Dean's direction.

"I know you're there," she called and Dean's blood froze. He had been so careful. Taking a deep breath, he pressed himself back into the wall. Maybe she was bluffing, he thought. Maybe she finished all her meetings like this.

Hope was quickly dashed when the sound of a rock guitar riff emitted from his jacket pocket and he cursed himself for not switching it to silent before entering the room. He banged his head against the wall in frustration as the giant Hannah had been with moved with a speed and grace he hadn't been expecting. Before Dean even had the chance to get his gun out, the man had him by the throat and was forcing his head back even further.

"What have we here?" he growled with a sneer. If the situation hadn't been so serious, Dean would have found the comment funny. It reminded him of the Daddy Bear in Goldilocks, although he would never admit to the analogy. Fumbling behind him for his weapon, he flailed at the guy uselessly with his other hand. Feeling his hand being grabbed before he was able to make contact with the man's face, he lashed out with a foot, desperately trying to break loose.

The man laughed, and distantly Dean could hear Hannah's heels clicking on the floor.

"Don't kill him, Simon," she instructed. "I can use him," and she turned swiftly on the spot and walked away.

Fingers finally coming into contact with his gun, Dean brought his arm up forcefully, only to have the gun ripped from his hand and thrown across the floor. The pressure on his throat increased and breathing rapidly became a priority. Diverting his efforts from trying to kill Simon to simply trying to stay conscious, Dean brought both hands to the arm across his neck, scrabbling with increasing feebleness. The face in front of him began to lose clarity and, as the edges of his vision became shrouded in gray, Dean wondered briefly who had been on the phone.


tbc