Dean stood outside the cabin, arms folded and eyes narrowed, watching the long black town car edge its way down the icy dirt road, then maneuver into the gravel driveway behind Baby. His jaw muscles flexed, then he strode forward as three people emerged from the car.

"Okay. Tell me what the hell you're doing here, and give me one good reason to let you stay." His voice was hard and unwelcoming.

Crowley leaned spread arms against the top of the passenger side of the car and dropped his forehead against the frame. "Squirrel. If you have ever had a single, solitary compassionate thought about me, you will under no circumstances make me get back in this vehicle with that woman - " He raised his head and glared at Dani. " - at the wheel. I am begging you." His voice was pitiful.

Dean stopped in his tracks, nonplussed. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. "Dani?"

Crowley's lips twisted. "Gods, no. Danielle."

Dani - Danielle?! - tossed her head. "Oh, quit your bitching, PB. I got us here, didn't I?"

Crowley's head thumped back down onto the car frame. "One police warning. A ticket in Adirondack for driving the wrong way down a one-way street. Scratches on my town car from bashing into a tree taking a turn too fast on a slick dirt road." Dean craned his head to peer down the side of the car facing him. Yep, there it was, a long, ugly looking dent with multiple lines of scratched paint. He blinked, raised a finger, tried to steer the conversation back.

"Fine. A bad drive - "

Danielle whirled on him, frowning. "It was a fine drive!" Dean blinked again, opened his mouth. "I don't know why PB's got his panties in a wad! I had fun! And I was the only one who could drive. Beggars can't be - "

Crowley interrupted wearily, cheek resting against the car frame, eyes closed. "Dean. Please. Let us at least come in. We are, in essence, refugees. Let me have a drink. Two. We'll tell you the story. Just don't make me ride in a car driven by that madwoman ever again. Or at least for a few hours."

Stymied, Dean tossed his hands in the air in frustration. "Fine! Sure! Whatever!" he snarled. Dani - he could tell Dani had shifted into control, just by the way she held herself; it was eerie how distinct the two were - tossed the keys to Davis.

"We have a rabid demon in the trunk, along with our luggage," she informed him. Crowley lifted his head and peered at her.

"Are you back, Dani-girl? Save me from your crazy meatsuit!" he whimpered. "Don't let her out again!" She gave him an indulgent smile.

"Look. Innie-Me was the only one with recent driving experience. You survived. Don't pout; it's not becoming. Now. In we go!" She gestured to the cabin door and began walking. Crowley peeled himself away from the side of the car, and he and Dean followed her.

Dean gritted his teeth and resigned himself to having house guests for a few hours. He slid a glance at Crowley, who had recovered remarkably quickly once he was sure no more driving was involved. "So. Um. What happened to...?" He mimed snapping his fingers, lifted an inquiring eyebrow.

"Can't," Crowley responded. He didn't elaborate, just brushed dust off his suit jacket and sniffed. "Really, Squirrel, what is it with you and your cohorts and rusticity? Couldn't you hole up somewhere more civilized? Closer to the city?"

Dani pushed the door open, looking back with a grin. "Oh, just wait til you see the decor! 'Rustic' was exactly the word I used when they brought me here." She started into the cabin, then stopped with a wide smile. "Charlie! You made it!"

Charlie dashed forward, exclaiming, "Dani!", throwing her arms around her and drawing her further inside and out of the way of the others. "Girl! Why didn't you guys just - uh - flit?"

Davis, laden with three bags, stopped next to Dean, and asked blandly, "Mr. Winchester, sir? Where should I put these?"

Dean slumped against the wall and waved a weak hand down the hallway. "Back there. Empty room." Davis nodded and disappeared down the hall. Cas caught Dean's eyes from across the living room, and, seeming to sense his desperate need for someone - anyone! - to take control of this circus, moved forward.

"I believe we should adjourn to the dining table and share information," he said in his gravelly voice. Like magic, everyone began moving to the table. Dani and Charlie sat down and Crowley disappeared into the kitchen, no doubt in search of scotch. Dean pulled himself away from the wall and walked over to stand by Cas.

"Cas, buddy, I don't know how you did that, but thanks. It's a frigging miracle," he muttered.

Cas's deep blue eyes slid to him and his lips twitched into a tiny smile. "I am an angel, after all," he murmured in response. He placed a gentle hand on Dean's back, guiding him toward the table. Dean sat, Crowley reappeared with a bottle of scotch and two glasses, and there was a sudden long silence. Crowley poured, pushed one glass to Dani, downed his own in one gulp, and thumped it back onto the table. Everyone jumped.

"Well, kittens. Here we are." He drummed his fingers on the tabletop with a frown. "To answer your question more fully, Squirrel: We did not flit because it appears that the motley rabid crew after me can track power usage. Flitting uses power. Ergo: no flitting." Dean started to speak, but an abrupt hand motion from Crowley stopped him. "It appears that our darling tantrum-throwing toddler archangel is back in business, and with a blast. New York City is soon to be a charnel house filled with Croats...amusing in theory, but bad for business. My stronghold - "

"Your remodeled abandoned warehouse," Dean muttered, rolling his eyes.

Crowley glared at him and continued, "My stronghold...is overrun with crazed demons out for my blood. We - " He paused, gestured to include the five of them gathered at the table. " - We need to put a stop to this madness. In both the figurative and the literal sense."

Gloomy silence descended again. Dean laced his hands together behind his head, tilted his chair back, and rocked it thoughtfully. Charlie huddled over the table, dark red hair shadowing her face. Cas sat erect, a small frown clouding his face. Dani stared into the distance, tapping her lips with a finger.

Dean returned his chair to the floor with a solid thump. "Okay, then. Bad juju all around. So what do we do?"

"What we need is a cure, and, failing that, a vaccine," Dani said. They all looked at her. She shrugged. "Look. We do have a subject to experiment with. In the trunk. You - " She pointed at Crowley. " - have a list of demons who were formerly doctors. Right?" Crowley nodded. "Surely we can co-opt some research facility somewhere - "

Dean was struck by a wild idea, and stopped her. "Whoa. Hold on, hold on. We - Hunters were shutting down Croat researchers left and right just a few months ago. We could grab one of those places, use it as a base..."

Cas nodded. "One of the more remote ones would be best. We are too close to the city here; we've already had one encounter with an infected person, days ago...more will be showing up. And so far, it seems, we have been quite lucky in that none of you have contracted the disease." That particular ugly thought loomed in the air. Charlie shivered.

Davis, who had returned long since and faded into the background positioned behind Crowley, spoke up. "A facility like that would also have more room." He nodded genteelly at Dean. "While your cabin is excellent for a small amount of people, for a fairly short time, I believe adding any further people will strain it to its limits."

Dean regarded him sourly. "So, what? Are we some kind of B&B for demons, now?" He switched his focus to Crowley. "I'm not letting you anywhere near Sam. Not after..."

Crowley bared his teeth. "After he killed me? You two are beginning to make it a habit. Believe me, I would much rather be at my bolt-hole. But it is very far from here, so here we are - in essence - refugees." He leaned back, shot his cuffs, and added, as an aside, "So where is your moose, anyway?"

Dean slumped down. "New York," he muttered. Crowley's eyes flicked up to him, surprised. He shook his head and held up a warding hand. "With your mom. Don't ask." Dani's eyes flashed black, and a faint growl drifted from her. Dean's lips thinned, but he could understand. Sam had killed her lover, after all, at Rowena's urging. Though here he was again, turning up like a bad penny. Did no-one stay dead anymore?!


Rowena rolled her eyes. "Pssshhhh. They can try to keep us locked down, but, seriously, Samuel. I could toss a wee hex bag to bend their eyes away - we could be dancing down the street with Mardi Gras masks on and they wouldn't even notice." He snorted in amusement at the image that conjured up, but his grim look returned. He walked to the sofa, sat down, and ran a hand down his face. She followed and curled up at the end of it. He looked at her with a thoughtful frown.

"Those men were scared, Rowena. They shot that man without a second thought. For God's sake, they were wearing hazmat suits!" She shrugged.

"Och. The things that scare people these days! Now, the Plague - that was frightening." She uncurled and slid her feet into his lap. "You, giant, are a worrier. I'm sure it's just another overreaction." He tilted his head to look at her through narrowed, thoughtful eyes. Then he shook his head.

"No. We've been cooped up here for days, haven't paid any attention to the outside world. Dean had a run-in like this last week in Hudson Falls." She arched her elegant eyebrows in surprise, but still waved it off. Sam removed her feet from his lap, stood up, and wandered to the table where his tablet was, grabbed it and returned. He slouched down against the arm of the sofa and pulled up WNBC on his browser.

Then he just stared at the page for a minute, jaw dropped.

He drew a deep, shuddering breath, and read out, "Mystery epidemic toll: 427 dead in 24 hours, more injured, attacked." He shot a look at Rowena, then went on. "Number expected to rise rapidly...Mayor di Blasio urges calm, assures that city health officials are, quote, working feverishly, unquote, to solve disease riddle. I'm just reading headlines of stories here, and remember, most of these were written last night." Rowena's eyebrows twitched together. She scooted down the sofa to lean gracefully on his shoulder, her eyes scanning the display. "Area hospital ERs overflowing from victims of vicious attacks...Is mystery death in Baltimore related?...President Obama tells country not to panic...Health officials held secret meeting days ago about the disease." He dropped the tablet into his lap, and gave her a hard grin. "Worried yet?"

She sat back on her heels, nibbling her lips. "Wellll..."

He snorted.

"I do have experience with hex bags to ward off disease..." she murmured, staring blankly at him.

"While the people with the disease were trying to gut you?" She folded her lips, shook her head, her red curls slithering and sliding with the movement. Sam surged up from the sofa and started pacing, running his hands through his hair. "We need to get out of here."

"Wouldn't this be the safest place to wait it out?" she asked. "Surely 'twill die down soon enough?"

He stopped, turned to stare at her in amazement. "Ro. This isn't going to die down. This is Croatoan. Croatoan. Made specifically to spread rapidly. Unrelated to anything out there that people might have immunity to. This is Lucifer, doing his damnedest to wipe out the 'hairless apes'. Damn him!" he snarled, fists clenching at his side. He knew what Lucifer was like, what he wanted - he'd had a century to learn that evil son of a bitch's ins and outs. "We need to get out of here," he repeated, jaw clenching.

She gaped at him, then said, faintly, "Taxi...?" She waved a hand helplessly, realizing how silly it sounded, then explained, "'Tis what I've used, och, these many years."

He closed his eyes and shook his head in disbelief. Then they snapped open, and he pointed a finger at her. "Car rental." He seized the tablet and sat down again, typing before he had even settled. She watched as he worked for minutes, now and then snarling under his breath, muttering to himself. "Nothing at Hertz...", a minute later "Gah. Budget's booked up, too," then, "Nope for Enterprise..." He kept on, his fingers pounding the tablet screen harder and harder. Finally, he flung it down on the sofa beside him. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. "Shit."

She picked it up, and fiddled with it for a moment. Then she looked down at it, lips twitching downward. "Samuel," she said softly. "The New York traffic site is showin' all roads out as solid red."

He groaned, then laughed bitterly, fingers dug into his hair. "Guess I'm not very original in my ideas."

She slid an arm across his shoulders, rubbing at the sudden knots. "Aye, well. Sounds like people are well and truly panicked." He rolled a shoulder under her ministering hand, then stretched his neck. She dug a knuckle in, and he winced at the sudden pain, pain close to pleasure, and drew in a hissing breath. She shifted, tapping his shoulder in a wordless command. He turned so his back was to her, and she began to work with both hands, expertly finding the knots. "So, boyo. What do we do?" she murmured, her hands continuing her work. "And do we truly need to do anything?"

He twisted his head to look at her. "Think, Ro. You have brains - use them." She slapped him lightly on the back. "The city is panicking. The hotel is under quarantine. Let's talk about basics. Food. Hotel'll have a day's worth of food. Maybe two. Then what? Oh, the officials may pass through essentials...if they remember."

"Um," she murmured. He snorted softly - she did like her food; the more expensive and intriguing, the better.

"Then there's the issue of more rabid people. Here. In the hotel. You don't think there's going to be just one, do you?"

"Um," she repeated. He could see her frowning from the corner of his eye. She leaned her sharp chin on his shoulder.

"The longer we wait, the worse it's gonna get." He left that hanging. The silence sang as they both rolled the problem over in their heads.

"Your wee angel friend. Castiel," she finally suggested. "Could he not transport us away?" Her hands left his back and flapped in the air, illustrating. He turned to her, grabbed her shoulders, his eyes lightening, a wide smile on his face.

"See? I told you you have brains!" He dug in his pants for his phone. "Can't believe I didn't think of that first," he muttered, angry at himself. He pulled up Cas's entry, punched the call button, brought the phone to his ear - then swore. "No phone service."

"Oi, what?!" Rowena's brows arched in surprise.

He glanced at her. "It's either overwhelmed or else they've - the officials - cut it off."

"Psshhhh!" She flounced up, sauntered to her purse, rummaged in it, and pulled her phone out. "We'll just be tryin' mine, then. Number, giant!" She snapped imperious fingers. He gave it to her, she dialed, and the same thing happened. She pulled the phone away from her ear and glared at it with pursed lips. "Well! And what use is all this marvelous technology - " She sneered the word. " - if it doesn't work when y'most need it?! Bah!" She threw the phone aside.

Sam sank back onto the sofa, legs splayed, head back, arm flung across his eyes. He was exhausted. Every time he and Dean turned around, it was another crisis. Another disaster. He thought fleetingly of Amelia, of his short-lived hope for a normal life, then pushed the thought aside. Could have beens...he needed to focus on the here and now. He cracked his eyes, peering out from under his arm at Rowena, who was now pacing back and forth before the sofa, muttering in Gaelic. With every step, her silky nightgown - which she had never had a chance to change out of - molded itself to her slender legs, swirling in a riot of gray paisleys on black. And with every step, her muttering grew louder, more like a snarl. He watched her through narrowed eyes, a sardonic twist to his lips, then closed his eyes again, thinking.

The sofa gave as Rowena dropped onto it again. She poked him. "Well, giant. And now what shall we do?"

He cracked his eyes open again, turned his head. "Eat, drink, and be merry?" he murmured, flipping an eyebrow at her.

She tossed her head. "Och, aye, and we should just be lyin' down and waitin' to die, is it? I don't think so! I've lived a very long time, and I don't plan on dying any time soon, and certainly not at the hands of some dairich sufferin' from some strange disease!" She looked every inch a haughty queen, emanating the iron will and stubbornness that had helped her survive three and a half centuries, made her conquer magic, that made her just what his subconscious had decided he needed to teach him...

He froze.

He thought.

He had transported himself here.

Maybe he could transport them out?

Before he realized it, his hand had shot out, engulfing her tiny wrist. He leaned forward, all intense concentration, focusing on her, and said, "Can you...can you work the guided imagery on me so that I can take us both away? The way - the way I came here?"

It was Rowena's turn to freeze. He could see the wheels turning in her mind as she stared into space. She finally focused back on him, drawing in a long, slow breath. "Now that, Samuel, is a very interestin' idea." She sank back on her knees, tapping a finger on her lips, thinking. "I canna do it myself, y'understand. Never was able to. But if you've done it once..."

"I can do it again," he said quietly.

She nodded.