It was 11:55. I tiptoed quietly through my room, arms stretched out to feel around in dark.

Pop. I froze, and slowly bent down and touched what was under my foot.

Bubble wrap. I silently cursed for sending the gifts I'd bought in the noisiest wrapping possible, and began tiptoeing towards the door, feeling the floor out in front of me to avoid stepping on anything else. I stepped out into the hall, and gasped as someone bumped into me. I turned, slammed the person against the wall, and pressed my forearm to their throat, all in one swift motion. I pulled the brass knife from the holster on my hip with my free hand, and brought it up in the air.

"Wait, Rickie, stop, what are you doing?" the person cried.

It wasn't the Raksalsa. "Dammit, Joe!" I growled, shoving the knife back into the holster.

"What the heck, Rickie, what are you do-"

I clapped a hand over his mouth. "Shut up, there are people sleeping right now, Joe!" I hissed.

He tried to throw my hand of his face. "Are you sneaking out? Why-"

"Shhhhhhhhhhh!" I covered his mouth again. "If you want to talk, you'll have to whisper, got it?"

He nodded and pushed my hand away. I took my forearm off his throat. "Why are you dressed like an emo delinquent?" he whispered. "You look like a criminal."

I looked down at myself, and flushed. I did look pretty suspicious in a black turtleneck, black jeans, and black tennis shoes with a black knit cap over my long braid and a holster holding a knife, flashlight, and pepper spray, but there was no way was I going to tell Joe why I was dressed like this.

"First off, I'm not emo. I like the color black. It's very, uh, black."

"Uh-huh," Joe said mildly, in a chipper way meant to be sarcastic.

"And second, I'm, uh, sneaking out to, uh, meet some friends at the, uh, mall, and I really have to get going, so if you can just-"

"Really? Sneaking out? Wow, that'll be fun. Don't you need a car to drive to the nearest mall, which is at least, I don't know, about an hour away and closes way before twelve o'clock in the morning?"

Oops. "Listen, Joe, I don't have time for this; just go back to-"

"No way! What are you doing? You better tell me or I'll, I'll…"

"You'll what?" I took a quick peek at my digital night watch. 12:03. I didn't have any time for this.

"I'll tell John!"

My blood turned cold. I knew Joe, and he would get John, no matter what I said. I had to do something fast. "Please, Joe, don't even think about going near John," I pleaded.

"Try and stop me." Joe turned on his heel and started for the stairs.

I grabbed him from behind. "I'll tell you everything later, I promise," I whispered. I curled my first two fingers and lightly tapped the back of his neck. He dropped without a sound. I dragged him into my room.

"Sorry, Joe," I whispered. It was an old trick my karate instructor taught me; it would knock someone out, but not for long, and I knew he would be pissed when he woke up. I left quickly and took the stairs with as much care as possible to prevent the steps from squeaking. There, once I reached the bottom, was a walkie-talkie, on the small table beside the closet. I snatched it up and crept down the hallway to John's room. I squatted down beside his door and lifted the walkie-talkie to my mouth. "Scully, do you read me? Over." I pressed the gadget to my ear.

"Yes," Sam grumbled. "In position. Over."

I tried my hardest not to laugh. Dean had insisted that we all have code names for the task we were about to face, but I could never remember which one of them was Simmons or Frehley. Dean had told me to call him Mulder and Sam Scully from the X-Files; he insisted that it would be easiest since Scully started with an S, like Sam. Sam tried to protest, but it was too late; I already thought of them with the names easily, and it would have been too hard to change it now to something different. So, with much grumbling, Sam had reluctantly agreed to the name.

I flipped the dial on the walkie-talkie to the second number and lifted it to my mouth again. "Mulder, do you read me? Over." I pressed the walkie-takie to my ear. All I could hear was static.

"Mulder, do you read me? Over."

Static.

"Mulder!"

"Right here. In…sition. Carrie in…asleep. Over." Dean voice sounded strange and broken up, and the static continued.

"Mulder, what's wrong your walkie-talkie? I can barely hear you," I said. I checked my watch. 12:07.

"Walk…old. Bet… save batteries. Out."

I flipped the dial back to the number one, and pressed the walkie-talkie to my mouth. "Scully, Mulder's 'talkie has been turned off. He is not able to contact or be contacted. Understood? Over."

"Understood. Over."

"So, uh, what do we do now? Over."

"We wait. Over."

I sighed, and leaned against the wall.

It was going to be a long night.