Author's Note: Thank you to all who have taken the time to review and critique and just say "hey"; you keep me writing, for which I'm grateful. It feels good to flex my writing muscles after a very long time of inactivity and you're like my personal trainers telling me to go, go, go.

Those readers with small children should recognize the book Sam reads in this chapter: Chicka Chicka Boom Boom, by Bill Martin, Jr. If they don't, I demand (DEMAND) they get a copy, immediately, and read it to their little people. I promise, the rest of us will wait here for you...

I can imagine Sam (MY version of Sam) choosing to read this book to Dean because—of course—he's done his research and recognizes the importance of predictive rhyme and sound repetition for the development of pre-readers' skills. I know he's hopeful that somehow—this time around—he'll plant the seed of a love of reading in his brother and someday they'll have more to discuss on their long road trips besides the merits of pornographic anime as an art form (or not), or debating whether or not the burrito Sam plans to have at their next dining stop will result in virulent gas, requiring him to ride in the back seat with the windows open. Or on the roof.

Okay. Is everyone back, now? Did you get that book and read it to your little ones? Wasn't it fun and bouncy? I can just imagine my Sam bouncing as he reads it; maybe Melia (probably not Dean, but anything's possible) too. It's just that kind of book. I hope you enjoyed it. You'll be reading it again. And again. And again. And again...Bwahahahahaha...

ELEVEN

Sam shrugged. "It sounds as if Nonna's keeping an eye on things, is all." He frowned. "Was she a bit of a control freak?"

"The truth is, she ruled with an iron fist. Nothing happened at Marchetti's—or anywhere in her family—without Nonna being involved." The cold draft swept over Annie once more, and with it a gusty scent of strong perfume. Nonna's perfume. It lingered over their table and drifted up her nostrils where it sat, making her eyes water.

"Smells like a French whorehouse on a hot summer day," Bobby exclaimed and slammed his menu shut. "Ladies and gentlemen, we've got a winner. I believe Nonna has just given us a 'sign of her presence' as they say on the boob tube, and holy shit, it stinks. I'm getting the steak pizzaiole."

Annie looked around, alarmed. "Bobby! That's not nice! Don't say that about Nonna's perfume!" Because Nonna will be pissed and that's never good.

"Why not? It's true. And to be honest, it beats the alternatives. Some spooks stink like rotten meat."

Sam nodded. "Decomposing bodily fluids and other by-products of the decaying process. Do they have anything that isn't fried, or covered in cheese, Annie?"

She looked from one man to the other. "Are you serious? How can you talk about...well...what you're talking about, and food in the same breath?"

"It's what we do, Annie." Sam reached over and took her hand, caressing it gently. He had such calloused fingers. Such a hard hand.

She looked across the table at Cas, and then at his his swan-folded napkin swimming majestically across the tablecloth for Dean and Melia. Swimming. Like it was real.

"Hi. I'm Jackie. Would you like to order something to drink while waiting for Darla?" Greg's wife approached the table, a huge white grin on her salon-tanned face. Ordinarily, Annie was intimidated by Jackie. She had perfect skin (despite the fake tan), perfect teeth, perfect hair, nails, clothes and just about everything else. But right now, the only thing she could think of preventing Jackie from noticing one of the napkins cruising across a tabletop pond. But, it appeared, all she had eyes for was Cas. She leaned close until her man-made, perfect cleavage hovered around the side of his head. "What can I get you?"

"Hi, Jackie! You look great today!" Annie squeaked. Please, don't notice the swan, please don't notice the swan...

Jackie turned her head. "Oh. Hi, Annie. You look nice all dressed up like that. I barely recognized you."

Bitch. "Thanks. I'm here with..." Two Hunters and an angel, a de=aged man and your husband's unrecognized spawn. "My friends."

Sam cleared his throat, getting her attention; her eyes widened as she realized he was holding Annie's hand. Annie felt a flush of satisfaction. Ha.

"Drinks would be nice. I don't know about Bobby, but I think Annie and I will have a carafe of your house wine to start. The kids will have milk. Do you have cups with straws?" Sam said.

"Sure thing." Jackie winked at him—bitch—and turned to Bobby. "Oh! Mr. Singer. What'll you have?"

"How 'bout some iced tea? With lemon." He gave Annie a grouchy look. "Because some people think I'm a cranky old coot, and probably an old drunk as well."

"I never said that...Annie shivered as Nonna—for that's what the draft was, there was no way to deny it—swept up past her and raced away, along with the cloying, choking, overpoweringly sweet scent of an old lady's perfume. And then, she watched the ornaments hanging from the chandelier-like light fixtures begin to sway in a breeze that shouldn't have existed indoors. They tinkled faintly. "If you want a drink, Bobby, have one. I know I will be drinking lots, very, very soon."

"And what about you?" Jackie put her hand on Cas' shoulder. "What would you like, handsome?"

Cas started, and turned his head; his nose bumped one of her breasts. Annie held her breath waiting for a nosebleed to start, but apparently his vessel was strong enough to withstand an assault from Jackie's silicone implants. He peered up at her. "Uh...Do you have duice?"

"Duice!" Dean lifted his hands over his head and cheered. "Hu'waay! Wika da duice!"

"Aw…aren't you nice? But I think the kids are already getting milk," Jackie said. "I can get an extra cup for you to share with the little guy though, if you want." She jiggled her enhancements and blinked her big, dark brown eyes at him; her magenta-lipsticked mouth spread into a teasing grin. "I'd be happy to get you anything you'd like."

Annie heard a creak and noticed the light fixture hanging directly over Jackie's head swinging slowly and methodically, back and forth. Like the pendulum in the Edgar Allan Poe story. Ironic. On a good day, Jackie barely spoke to the waitresses and staff, because she felt they were beneath her. Just like she was beneath that light. Annie swallowed and wondered how perfect she'd look, squished by a heavy, faux-crystal chandelier.

"Uh...okay." Cas nodded. "Duiceboxes are also an acceptable beverage."

"Well, then. I'll be right back," Jackie looked puzzled. Worse, she was completely unaware that she was in danger. All she knew was that the object of her desire wanted nothing but juice with a straw. Annie exhaled in relief when Greg's wife moved away, her hips swinging in that just-too-sexy way that had every man in the restaurant watching her. Except for Cas—who had disappeared at a word from Sam and reappeared carrying the Diaper Bag of Doom. And Sam, who was busy searching through said DBoD until he found the right board book. And Bobby, who was frowning up at the light fixture which hadn't quite stopped swinging.

"That old lady smell's gone away. Did you notice?" the older hunter said.

"Hard not to," Sam nodded, and opened the book. "Look, Dean. Melia. 'A told B and B told C, "I'll meet you at the top of the coconut tree."'?"

"Thhhpt," Dean said. "No ABC. ABC poop twee. Cwayons!"'

"No, Dean. Crayons after the story. Look—Me-la likes it."

"Raaaay!" Melia clapped and wiggled with excitement as Sam turned the heavy page. This was one of her favorite books. "Whee! Say D! Beat to the tuh-ree!"

"That's right…" he smiled at her and nodded. "'Whee! Said D to EFG. I'll beat you to the top of the coconut tree!'" Sam kept reading the story in a happy, singsong voice.

Dean glowered mutinously. "No Me-la 'raaaay'." He turned to his angel/caretaker/entertainer. "Ass! Do da duck!"

"Wait, Dean." Cas cradled his chin on his fist; apparently he loved Chicka Chicka Boom Boom as much as Melia.

"Is everyone ready to order?" Darla re-appeared, reaching for the menus on the table and attracting Dean's attention. Just like the cavalry, Annie thought. Riding in just in time to save them all from an epic Winchester "no duck" meltdown.

"Annie, what do you think the kids should have? I'll let you order for them. And for me." Sam gave her a quietly confident smile that melted her heart.

Dammit, Sam you're killing me.

"You can order for Cas, too," he purred.

"Okay." Annie took a deep breath and composed herself to order from the menu she knew by heart and by taste. Nonna had made so many delicious foods, but she had her favorites and she ordered those for Sam, Cas and the children. Or tried to. Dean was being Dean, untying Darla's apron and fluttering his eyelashes at her as she took their order. Predictably and somewhat disgustingly, Darla was charmed by the little boy with the dimples and huge, green eyes. She cooed over him while he touched her hair and patted her cheek. It seemed to take forever for the woman to write down their order and leave.

As soon as she did, Annie blurted, "Seriously, Sam. Do you think he's aware of what he's doing? Honestly, I think he was trying to peek down her shirt."

"Well, he is still Dean. In a small package. You know, I've done research and it's been discovered that children can have sexual impulses as young as a year old." Sam lowered the book and Melia pouted.

"As if he isn't acting creepy enough. Thanks for filling us in on that, Sam," Bobby said. Then he made a face as the heavy perfumed odor returned with a chill. "Nonna's back. Smell that?"

"Stronger than ever." Sam nodded.

Annie couldn't answer. Her eyes were starting to tear from the potent parfum d'elderly lady. "Can you make it go away?" The cold seemed to blanket the entire table.

"Hullo, wady!" Melia chirped suddenly.

Cas sat up. "Sam. This isn't good. It's Nonna, and she's—" He blinked and then lowered his gaze. "It's too late."

"Too late? I'd say it's just in time!"

Annie turned to stare at her daughter, who was looking around the table with a wise and knowing expression. Until she turned and fixed her gaze on Annie herself. No, wait. That wasn't Melia's, it was...Nonna's intense gaze.

In her daughter's innocent little blue eyes. What the…words failed her. Annie sucked in a breath but it didn't reach her lungs, or her brain as her heart stopped beating.

"What are you staring at, honey? You did say nothing ever happened without me getting involved. And mannaggia la miseria, I really need to get involved now. This place is all fanabola." Melia-Nonna waved her little hands about. "These table clothes are hideous, for one thing. And the flower arrangements on the tables look like weeds." She turned her head—Nonna turned Melia's head—and her gaze caught on Bobby. "Well. You clean up nice, Singer."

"Uh...thank you." Bobby said gruffly.

"And you—" her attention turned to Sam—"need a haircut. But you're a handsome-looking strapping thing all the same." She pushed her small elbow into Annie's side. "Try to hang onto this one if you can. He'll keep you plenty warm at night. And look at the size of his feet! Madonn'." She peeked under the table, and chortled. "You know what big feets means. A big braggiol'."

Annie gagged. It was Nonna speaking, in Nonna's voice. But it was coming from Melia's mouth, the last place from which Annie wanted to hear a discussion about the size of any part of Sam's anatomy.

"Sam…Sam? Sam! Do something!" Annie choked out in a raspy gasp. She tried to stand, but her knees buckled, and she fell to the floor.

"Could someone please pass the salt?" Bobby murmured.

Salt? There's a dead woman in my baby's body talking about the size of Sam's...whatever, and you want salt?

"Sam." Annie whispered. From here, she couldn't see what was going on. She needed to stand but it was if her bones had melted and she'd forgotten how to get to her feet. From her position by the table leg, she could see Sam reaching into the diaper bag and then, bending to look inside one of its many zippered pockets.

What are you going in there for? We don't need a wipe, we need to get Nonna out of Melia. She's possessing Melia! Annie lifted herself from the floor by grasping the sides of the chair and pulling herself upright; she hung on so tightly her knuckles ached. Just in time she saw Cas toss the older hunter the salt shaker. Bobby plucked it out of the air, simultaneously twisting off the cover and tossing a spray of salt over her little girl.

"Yay!" Dean cheered as a grey vapor floated up out of his friend and away.

Melia started to cry as she reached out to Annie. Annie unclenched her hands slowly, with difficulty; she pulled Melia out of the highchair and clutched her as if that could stop Nonna from possessing her daughter again. She was about to brush the salt out of her hair and then decided against it. She wasn't sure, but maybe that would provide some protection against the spirit. It seemed to have done something to make the ghost leave her body.

She buried her face in Melia's neck and tried not to cry. Someone's hand pressed on her shoulder—Bobby's, she thought, since Sam wasn't close enough to touch her; it didn't matter. As long as someone was acknowledging she was scared to death and ready to lose it…

"Quick thinking, Cas. Didn't think that was gonna work. Sam, what happened?" Bobby said, squeezed her shoulder and let go.

"The bag of sea salt got caught on…hold on…a Matchbox car. Oh, shit, the bag ripped! There's salt all over the inside pocket." Annie heard the ting of silver place settings being jostled together, then a bang. The table vibrated. She lifted her face to see the DBofD on the table in front of Sam; his place setting had been pushed aside. He began digging through the bag, pulling items out and dropping them on the white tablecloth. As his pile of assorted Hunter-plus-toddler-care-gear grew, Annie watched him in stunned silence. He was so freaking calm! It was like this sort of thing happened every day.

It does happen every day. To him. Holy shit. This really is his life. He does this for a job. Suddenly, waiting tables in a busy Italian restaurant while rubbing elbows with your daughter's father who pretends neither one of you exists in any capacity, other than employee, didn't seem like so bad. In fact—it was preferable to a life hunting and destroying scary monsters and things who wanted to kill you, not ignore you.

"I've got an iron knife. We can press that to her with that if Nonna comes back." Sam handed a small, wooden-handled knife across the table to Bobby without looking up from his task.

"An iron knife? What, are you expecting a visit from the tooth fairy?"

"Um…" Sam finally did look up, his expression sheepish. "Well, no, now that you mention it. Did we tell you what happened to Dean in Duluth?"

"Duluth?" Bobby frowned. "What the hell does that have to do with the price of tea in Poughkeepsie?"

"I don't believe Sam was talking about tea, Bobby. In Poughkeepsie, or anywhere. He was talking about how Dean dispatched the fairy in charge of dentation collection in Minnesota," Cas interjected.

"Aw hell. Are you telling me Dean kacked the Tooth Fairy?" Bobby waved his arms.

"It was an accident!" Sam said, and went back to getting to the salt at the bottom of the bag. "But yes, he did, and now we're the target of some very pissed off Fae. Oh, here's Dean's other Lightening McQueen sock. I was looking for this." He pulled it out, shook salt out of it, and tucked it into his pocket.

"Wightening go fast," Dean said and tilted his head as his brother sorted through the things on the table. "What Dam doin'?"

"Dam mak'n da mess," Amelia noted, shifting out of Annie's tight grip, no worse for the wear. "Want a woll, Dam. Pwease."

"Sure, Melia." He passed a roll to the little girl with one hand without skipping a beat; he even mananged to pass one to Dean and pull a battered-looking flask out of the bag in one synchronized move. "Still hot, honey. Be careful. You too, Dean."

"Woll hot," Dean agreed. "Ass blow it."

The angel obliged with a fierce gust of wind. The roll flew out of Dean's fist, landing on the plate of someone oblivious to their haunting, happily celebrating an anniversary on the far side of the restaurant. Dean giggled, Amelia laughed her deep belly laugh, and for a moment, things felt almost normal. Or at least, safe.

Normal was not something that happened in the Winchester's world, Annie realized. Rather, what was normal for them was abnormal for everyone else. So if she wanted Sam to stick around, if she wanted to be a part of his life, she'd have to learn to make the abnormal, normal.

"Next time, blow easy, ya idjit." Bobby reached for the basket and got another roll out for Dean, puffing on it a few times before handing it across the table to the boy. "You don't need to be the Breath of God, you're just cooling the thing down so the kid doesn't burn his tongue."

"Duly noted, Bobby." The angel nodded apologetically. "I'm not smiting the roll, I'm just adjusting its temperature."

"Exactly."

"There. I think that'll do it." Sam turned over the diaper bag—with difficulty, since it was still half-full and huge—and shook a substantial pile of pink salty pebbles out onto one of his pushed-aside plates. "That'll hold her off if she comes back. Until we run out, anyway."

"Uh-oh. What's going on over there?" Bobby craned his neck to peer out at the lobby. A small crowd of people—mostly staff—had formed, and they were shooing patrons who were attempting to leave back into the dining area.

Annie thought about going over to check, but then she'd have to leave Amelia. Abnormal to normal, she reminded herself. She had three competent—well, two competent Hunters and an Angel of the Lord to watch her baby; she could leave her in their care for at least a minute while she investigated. And she was tired of freaking out. She knew who Sam was—or thought she did—and had a better idea of what to expect when she spent time with him. This. Crazy, abnormal, scary. She would accept that, because she needed to.

More importantly, she needed to be a role model for her little girl. Because how else would Melia learn to be a strong, competent woman who would never allow herself to be ignored by her baby's daddy if she didn't see Annie being strong and competent herself? Still, she gave her daughter an extra-tight squeeze before standing. Her choice of guardian was simple; she held Amelia out to Cas. He looked surprised but folded the little girl into his arms and—Annie couldn't see but got the sense—he enfolded her in his wings as well.

"I'll go find out what's happening. And if Nonna or anyone tries to get her again, smite the hell out of them." She left the table and headed for the chaos in the lobby.