Two Years Later


"But I already told the police, I don't know anything," Natalie said.

Sam and Dean had snagged the woman outside her house on her way to work. Natalie Riguel was a maid, and tended to the houses of the well-to-do in Dalerton, Missouri. Along with her son and husband, she lived in a modest home in a neighborhood which was absurdly overgrown with ivy. The plants aggressively climbed the fences separating houses, crept over the cracked sidewalk, and covered trees so completely that they looked like writhing green pillars. Their branches stretched across the road to touch and intertwine, and the ivy growing on and between them formed a canopy that the sun could not penetrate.

Beneath the thick emerald ceiling, the air was humid, and even in the gloomy shade, it was unbearably hot. Fog lay in a stagnant blanket about Mrs. Riguel and the Winchester's feet, obscuring the sidewalk upon which they stood. Dean shifted uncomfortably in his suit, glancing longingly at the Impala which sat parked no more than five feet away on the street. The car was off at the moment, but the cool of the air conditioner Dean had been running continuously for the past three days would still linger within it.

"We know, we read your statement," Sam was saying. "We thought maybe you would have remembered something?"

"No, i-it's just like I told the police," Natalie insisted repetitively. "I don't know what I can tell you. I just... don't know anything, about anything!"

Dean and Sam had arrived in Dalerton after a man killed his wife and four kids on Friday, then burnt his house down. He was found wandering an empty field a few miles out of town, with no recollection of the past few hours. Saturday, while the Winchesters were still digging into the first incident, another man went off the rails. Dalerton's mayor raped his wife, and then threw her off a bridge, before walking into a school with a shotgun and killing twenty people, eighteen of whom were kids under the age of fourteen.

The hunter's first guess was demonic possession, but none of the typical signs were present. The only thing they had to go on were the unusual EMF readings at the school and the mayor's house. A demon would have left other signs behind - electrical storms, sulfur, sharp temperature drops. They had considered the possibility that it was a shifter wreaking havoc on Dalerton, but the EMF signatures lead them away from that line of reasoning. The Winchesters were further stumped by the fact that the two victims, or perpetrators, were seemingly unconnected.

Then, on Sunday, the mayor was found in his basement, tied to a chair, hours after he had supposedly escaped across the state line. He claimed to have been knocked out by a man with a russian accent on Saturday morning, and, of course, denied killing anyone. While the Dalerton PD had a hard time believing him, Sam and Dean were a bit more accepting of his story, and it fell to them to find out what it meant.

"Are-are the FBI working with the Dalerton PD?" Natalie ventured nervously.

"We're launching a separate investigation," Sam said quickly. The last thing they needed was for people to start calling up the Dalerton Police Department, putting Sam and Dean on their radar. " , you're absolutely certain there isn't anything else you can tell us? The smallest detail could make a huge difference, no matter how weird it might seem."

"No," Natalie said, shaking her head vehemently. "Like I keep saying, I didn't go in to work that day. I have Saturdays off, and I was at the park with my son and husband."

"And there wasn't anything out of the ordinary going on around the time the mayor..." Dean trailed off, unsure how to put it delicately enough to keep the woman coherent. She was the kind of red-eyed, frail-looking person who would probably burst into tears and become completely unhelpful at the slightest mention of what the mayor had done.

Natalie sniffled, but managed to keep from crying.

"No, nothing at all," she whimpered. "Mayor Umtin... he just always seemed like such a good man..."

"We heard he was a devout christian," Sam said.

Natalie nodded.

"Our families went to the same church. That's one of the reasons he hired me... he wanted his household filled with god-fearing people."

She wiped her eyes hastily, and cleared her throat.

"I-I really have to get going," she said apologetically, opening her car door. "I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help to you, agents."

"Don't worry about it," Dean said. He handed her a business card. "Give us a call if anything occurs to you."

"I will," Natalie promised, taking the card.

Sam and Dean watched as she drove away.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Sam," Dean said. "She was our last solid lead."

"No corrections to be made," Sam sighed. At his side, Dean undid his tie, took off his suit jacket, and loosened his collar, panting.

"Does that mean we can head back to the room and get out of these stuffy suits?" Dean asked.

"For now," Sam conceded.

"Gah," Dean groaned, making a beeline for the Impala. "Quick, turn on the AC. I'm melting."

"You're not driving?" Sam asked, noting that Dean had gone to the passenger side.

"Can't drive, I'm about to pass out from heat exhaustion," Dean whined, tossing Sam the keys.

"Come on," Sam teased. "It's not that hot."

"Says Mr. Iced coffee," Dean shot back.

"Hey, I asked if you wanted one."

"Yeah, right!"

"It's not my fault you were too busy airdrumming metallica to pay attention to what I was saying," Sam japed.

"Hey, I was in the zone, okay?" Dean said defensively.

Sam rolled his eyes as he turned the key in the ignition, ignoring the almost sexual sound of satisfaction Dean made when cool air blasted from the vents.

"So," Dean started as Sam pulled around Natalie's car, still stationary ahead of them. "Now what?"

"Now we dig," Sam said. "There has to be a connection between the mayor and Gorder. I'll drop you off at the motel, so you can start looking into Umtin."

"Drop me off?" Dean questioned. "Where are you going?"

"Gorder worked at a hardware store," Sam explained. "I'm going to talk to his co-workers, see if any of them have anything interesting to say."

Dean hummed in response, and Sam glanced over to see him nodding off.

"Dude, what is up with you?" Sam demanded, punching his shoulder just hard enough to rouse him.

"Nothing's up," Dean said, straightening in his seat. "I'm just tired is all."

"Maybe you should get some sleep before you start looking into the mayor," Sam suggested. "You look like shit. Did you get any sleep at all last night?"

"Yeah... an hour or two," Dean said.

"And the night before that?" Sam pressed.

"Same."

"Dean, when was the last time you slept more than two hours straight?" Sam demanded.

"Uh..." Dean reflected on the past two or three weeks, while regretting cluing Sam in on his sleeping problem. "A few days ago," Dean lied. "This case has just uh... just been keeping me up."

"Well you're no good to anyone passing out," Sam said pointedly. "Get some shuteye while I'm gone, and we'll check out the mayor together when I get back."

"There's a plan I can get on board with," Dean said, glad the subject had died on it's own.


The girl looked around the room currently rented to 'federal agents' Dean 'Murdoch' and Sam 'Bulwin'. They couldn't have been here for more than two days, but their presence showed. A large leather jacket was slung over the back of a chair, the wastebaskets were full of candy wrappers, and a box containing a half-eaten meat lovers special pizza sat on the table. Not the most slovenly of scenes, but enough to make her cringe a little.

A quick look under the bed revealed a large black duffel bag, which she didn't bother going through. She knew what she would find, and in any case, she didn't need to risk running into the wrong metal.

She bent over the bed closest to the window, and sniffed the pillow. The scent that greeted her was sweat and dirt and something distinctly masculine. She drew back, wrinkling her nose.

She made her way to the bathroom, not bothering to turn the light on as she looked around. The shower didn't look to have been used recently, which, she thought, would definitely explain the stink on the pillow.

Her musings were interrupted by the sound of a door opening. She peeked out from the bathroom in time to see a man in a suit switching on the air conditioner. Even from behind, she recognized him immediately.

"Dean Winchester," she breathed, a smile creeping onto her face.

He turned and made his way to the sink, but didn't notice her, despite the fact that she was doing nothing to hide her presence. She took a good look at him as he approached. The first thing that struck her was how tired he looked. And hot. His white suit shirt was drenched in sweat. Aside from the dark circles under his eyes, however, he looked exactly the same as he had the last time she had seen him.

Dean bent over the sink, practically moaning in relief as he splashed water over his face. The girl rolled her eyes. He was an idiot for not noticing her sooner, and the burden now fell to her to announce herself without giving him a heart attack.

Before she could make a move, however, he straightened, and caught sight of her in the mirror. His eyes locked onto hers, and he froze for a long moment.

Smiling, the girl raised her hand to wave. Her motion triggered a violent reaction from Dean. He snatched the gun from the waist band of his pants, and whipped around. Her reaction was more knee-jerk than anything else. She grabbed his arm and twisted it to the side, putting all her weight behind the move and driving him to the ground.

"Dean, calm down," she said, trapping his gun-hand with a foot.

Dean just grunted, and his hand flew toward her leg. She didn't have time to dodge the blow, but it didn't matter. There was nothing material for his hand to hit. After his failed punch, she quickly immobilized him.

"Dean, it's me!" she said, annoyance seeping into her tone as he struggled against her hold.

Finally, Dean stopped fighting, and actually looked at her instead. The expression of shock that spread across his face was almost comical.

"Alice!" he gasped.

Alice grinned as she relaxed her hold on him and straightened.

"Hi Dean," she said, staring down at him. "It's been a while hasn't it?"

He gaped up at her until she offered him a hand up.

"Alice," he repeated, taking her hand. She pulled him to his feet, but he didn't let her hand go after he was up. Her eyebrows shot up as he squeezed her hand, and looked her over.

"I thought, um... I heard you..." Dean struggled to find the right words. "Aren't you dead?" he finally blurted.

"Define dead," Alice said carefully, pulling her hand from his grasp.

"Dead, like Ruby killed you in 1997 dead," Dean clarified.

"That did happen," Alice admitted.

"Huh," Dean said. "You're uh... you're awfully corporeal for a hallucination. Or a dead person, for that matter."

He poked her in the chest, and she frowned.

"I'm actually here," she said, swatting his hand away as if to prove the point.

"But you did die?"

"Mmhmm."

"Okay. Not to be rude or anything, but, uh... why are you here then?" Dean asked.

"It's... a long story," Alice sighed. "Involving a devil's gate, a series of unfortunate events involving a reaper and a minor god, and a lot of running."

"A devil's gate?" Dean repeated, a chill running down his spine. "How long ago was all this?"

"A few months," Alice replied. "The gate opened, and I, being the bright opportunist I am, used it to escape the afterlife. But that's not really important."

Dean frowned, about to protest the supposed irrelevance of that information, but Alice went on without waiting for his response.

"I'm here because I need your help," Alice continued. "As you kind of hinted at, I'm not really supposed to be here. I already mentioned the reaper that's kind of on my ass at the moment."

"There's a reaper on your ass?" Dean repeated.

"Yeah, Lost Souls Recovery Unit," Alice snorted. "Talk about a crappy job. I would almost pity the poor sot if he wasn't such a douche. Anyway, he's tracking me using some trail souls leave when they're not packed in meat. That minor god I mentioned earlier gave me some pointers on how to throw him off my scent, but even so... I can't run forever. I need a body ASAP, or my ass is getting dragged back to eternal unrest."

"Hold on, back up a minute," Dean said, struggling to process what she was saying. He was way too tired for this. "So, you died. Got that part. Then you climbed out of the afterlife through a Devil's gate, and now you're a ghost."

"Eh, lost soul," Alice interjected. "There's some technical difference."

"Right. And you want me to help you how?" Dean asked.

"I need a body," Alice repeated.

"Meaning?"

Alice threw her hands up in exasperation.

"I don't know how much clearer I can make it," she exclaimed. "A body! A host! Something to wrap up in so my stinky soul trail doesn't lead the reaper right to me!"

"You're talking about possession," Dean realized.

"Yes," Alice conceded. "That's a good word for it. I need to possess something."

"So let me get this straight... you're planning on taking over some poor shmucks body, and you want my help to do it?" Dean demanded in disbelief.

"Before you go off the rails, hear me out," Alice said, her tone almost pleading. "Notice I said something not, someone."

"You lost me again," Dean said.

"Of course I did," Alice sighed. "Look, you guys are hunting a shifter, right?"

"We are?" Dean asked quizzically.

"Yeah, you are. I thought you'd figured that out by now," Alice said, rolling her eyes.

"We considered that, but there was an EMF..."

Dean trailed off, a piece of the puzzle clicking into place.

"You left the EMF trail at the school and the mayor's house," Dean said accusatorily. "You were over there poking around, weren't you?"

"Yeah, I took a look around," Alice admitted. "I was also the one who tipped the police off about the mayor in the basement. After I asked him a few questions myself, of course."

"Okay, so what do you know about this thing?" Dean demanded.

"Everything," Alice replied. "Who it is, where he lives, what he eats for breakfast."

"How?" Dean pressed.

"The mayor knew him," Alice explained easily.

"That's not what the mayor told the cops."

"The mayor told the cops what I told him to tell them," Alice said. "I need this kid, and he's no good to me in a jail cell. I explained to the good mayor that I could clear his name, but only if I could get to the shifter. He was more than willing to help me out."

"So... you want... to... possess the shifter?" Dean asked slowly, working through it in his mind as he spoke.

"Exactly," Alice said with a smirk. "It takes care of everyone's problems. Once I have control of that freak, I can shift back into the mayor, and vindicate him... somehow. I'll admit, I haven't quite worked that part out yet. But the shifter meat will throw the reaper off my scent, and plus, the shifter won't be able to hurt anyone else. Wins all around."

Dean could see a lot that was wrong with this plan, but he kept his mouth shut for the moment.

"Okay, but what do you need my help for then?" he asked instead. "If you already know who the shifter is, and where he lives, why not just go... do your ghost possession thing?"

Alice pursed her lips, and reached around to rub the back of her neck, a look that came close to embarrassment settling over her features.

"Well... I, um... kind of already tried that," Alice said sheepishly.

"So how come you're not riding the creepy son of a bitch?" Dean pressed.

"He, uh... kind of... figured out that ghosts don't like salt," she allowed.

Dean frowned.

"How?"

"I'd rather not talk about it," Alice said, a blush creeping onto her cheeks.

Dean's eyebrows shot up, his interest piqued.

"Look, I just need help getting to him is all," Alice said hurriedly, before Dean could ask any more questions. "Honestly, you and Sam are the greatest stroke of luck I've had since the devil's gate opened up. Being corporeal and all, I thought you could help me subdue him long enough to hop in."

She smiled up at him with the satisfied air of someone with a foolproof plan. Dean sighed, preparing to let her down.

"Look, Alice..."

"What?" she asked, her face falling when she heard his tone.

"Nothing against you," Dean said sincerely. "But what's dead should stay dead."

Alice's jaw set, and her eyes flashed. The temperature in the room dropped a few degrees, and Dean shivered, wondering how big of a mistake he'd just made.

"You know, there was a time when I would have agreed with you," Alice started, her tone low and completely level. She held his eyes, her gaze boring into him intensely. "Even now, I won't try to argue that point. I know better than most that everything has it's time. I know mine is over."

Alice advanced on him, and he took a step away from her. It did no good. Alice flickered, and in an instant, she was in front of him. Backed against the bed, Dean had nowhere to go.

"But I can't go back," Alice said. Her tone dropped a few more notches, but didn't become threatening. She almost sounded desperate. "I won't go back down there, Dean."

A chill ran through Dean that had nothing to do with the sudden cold in the room.

"You were in hell," he said.

She nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving his.

"The rumors don't do it justice, Dean," she said, her voice little more than a whisper. "The fire... the ice... every evil son of a bitch I ever exorcised. And the pain, always the pain... there aren't words, Dean."

She trailed off, and grabbed his arm, pushing his sleeve up. Her fingers were tight and frigid on his wrist, and goosebumps rose from his skin.

"You remember Torxing," Alice breathed. Her hand moved up his arm, her thumb brushing over the gashes she had left him with so long ago, now healed into angry red scars that would soon be reopened. Dean nodded in answer to her question. He had blacked out during his Torxing, and the demon had taken the brunt of the torture, but sometimes he felt the echoes of that pain when the marks on his arms began a fresh cycle. The agony that jolted through every fibre of his being for an instant and left him on the ground, often too incapacitated to even cry out.

Alice guided his hand to her forearm, and he let her push his fingers up her sleeve. There, he could feel the deep cuts on her arm, still fresh as if they had just opened. Mirrors of his own, but earlier in the cycle of healing and reappearing.

"It's a thousand times worse down there," Alice rasped, her voice breaking as she held his eyes. "You can't imagine..."

She took a breath to steady herself, closing her eyes to fight back tears.

"Help me, Dean," she begged, her grip on his wrist tightening urgently as her eyes flew open, searching his face for an answer.

All Dean could think about was his deal. The contract that would send him to the very hell Alice had just escaped in less than a year. Suddenly, it was no longer about what was right or wrong. Dean had to help her, because fuck hell, fuck death, and fuck the natural order of things.

"I will," he promised. Maybe...

A small voice in the back of his mind whispered the what ifs. Maybe if he helped Alice, someone would help him when his time came. Maybe it would be her. Maybe somehow, someway, by some miracle he wouldn't have to...

He couldn't even think it. It didn't matter, he thought as a smile spread across Alice's features that did nothing to warm him. No one could save him. No one could help him. If they tried, Sam would pay the price. He had to remember that.

Alice leaned up, and her lips brushed against his for a moment, soft and fleeting as a breeze.

"Thank you," she breathed.

"I guess hunters don't let hunters get dragged to hell," Dean said, his tone lighter than he felt.

Alice chuckled at the familiar phrase.

"I honestly doubt most hunters would give a shit about anything but sending me packing," Alice joked.

"You know I could never do that to you," Dean said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "'Specially since you cool the room down way better than that piece of shit AC."

That dragged a genuine laugh from Alice, who drew away from him and took a seat at the table. She peeked into the pizza box again, and sighed.

"So. Is this a horrible junction at which to ask what you and Sam have been doing for the past... shit, what year is it?" she asked.

"2007," Dean replied, sitting heavily on the bed.

"Ten years," she said, sounding slightly awed by the figure. "Wow."

She went silent for a long moment, gazing at the wall as she thought. Finally, she snapped her fingers.

"Ha! Just Push Play has to be out by now, right?" she crowed in satisfaction.

"That, and Honkin' on Bobo," Dean provided.

"Don't know what that is," Alice admitted. "I'll have to check it out after I get my meat. Right after I eat something, of course."

She eyed the pizza longingly, before sighing and turning her attention back to Dean.

"Screw the food and music though," she said, leaning back in her chair and putting her feet up on the table. "How have you and Sam been?"

Dean hesitated, wondering how much to tell her.

'Oh, not too bad Alice. You know, Sam died and I sold my soul to bring him back, so now I'm headed for hell. And don't even get me started on the whole demon blood shebang. Plus, we've heard from the demon who killed you a couple times. She's still breathing though. Haven't gotten around to ganking her yet, sorry.'

"We've been okay," Dean replied automatically.

Alice raised her eyebrows.

"That's it? Okay?" she questioned. "Come on, something exciting has to have happened to you since you last saw me. How long has it been for you anyway?"

"Two years," Dean answered.

"Wow. So you had two years that were so boring you can't think of any stories to amuse me with while we wait for Sam to get back?" Alice demanded.

At the mention of Sam, Dean pursed his lips. Alice read his expression, and groaned as another issue occurred to her.

"Damn, how is Sam going to take this?" she wondered. "Think he'll be willing to help me out?"

It'd be awfully hypocritical of him if he wasn't, Dean thought.

"Hard to say," Dean said instead.

"I'm not sure if he ever really warmed to me like you did," Alice mused aloud. "He put up with me, and he was pretty cool most of the time. Still, I always had the feeling that he was just biding his time 'til I sent you back home."

Dean bit his lip at Alice's assessment. It all rang true enough, but the first part bugged Dean a little. Like you did.

"What happened to you, Alice?" Dean asked abruptly. "After we left."

Alice shrugged.

"I hunted. I was hunted. I thought I'd finally won, and then I died," she said shortly. It was obviously not a subject she was eager to explore. She looked Dean over, and latched onto the distraction that his haggard appearance provided.

"You know, you look like shit," she said bluntly.

"You're the third person to tell me that today," Dean sighed.

"Trouble sleeping?"

"Guilty as charged."

"Nightmares?"

Dean hesitated, and Alice nodded before he could respond.

"Comes with our line of work," she said, by way of explanation for her perception.

Comes with being sentenced to hell, Dean thought grimly.

"If you want, I'll shut my trap and you can get some shuteye while we wait," Alice offered.

Dean was exhausted, but before he could accept the offer, his attention was drawn to the door by the sound of a key turning in the lock. The door cracked open, and Sam peeked in. He frowned, and threw the door open when he saw Dean sitting up on the bed.

"What happened to you getting some sleep?" Sam demanded, blindly tossing his suit jacket toward the table. It landed on Alice's head, and Dean snickered as she sat stone still beneath it. He forced a straight face, and addressed Sam.

"I thought you were supposed to be grilling the hardware store employees," Dean said.

"The place is closed," Sam replied, placing a bag on his bed. "Most of the people who worked there had kids who were killed with the mayor shot up the school. They've all got the week off in light of the tragedy. They're at home consoling their loved ones and taking care of the funeral arrangements."

He reached into one of the bags he had brought in with him, and pulled out a pocket pie.

"Here," he said, tossing it to Dean.

Dean looked it over, and nodded in approval.

"I can live with the pocket," he said.

Behind Sam, Alice finally pulled his jacket off her head, holding it at arms length before dropping it in a heap on the floor, wrinkling her nose.

"You know, Sam," she started. "I somehow got the impression that you had better hygiene than your brother, but... whew! You need deodorant or something."

Sam's reaction was much less violent than Dean's, but no less immediate. He whipped around, and froze when he saw Alice, the blood draining from his face as she spoke.

"Alice," he said.

"You okay, Sam? You look like you've seen a ghost," Dean chuckled.

"Maybe I have," Sam replied. "We heard you died, Smith."

Alice growled quietly as she stood, but she didn't advance on Sam.

"I still don't like being called by that name," she said as she walked over to stand beside Dean. "You know, funny thing is, I heard I was dead too. Guess those reports were exaggerating a bit."

Dean raised his eyebrows at the misleading narrative, and Alice shot him a glance that told him to keep his mouth shut.

"Really? So where've you been the past decade?" Sam asked. He nodded to Dean. "He ran us halfway across the country and back looking for you."

Dean rolled his eyes. Sam's characterization of their brief search made it sound somewhat more extensive than it had actually been, though his account was technically true.

"Where I've been is my business," Alice said. "If I wanted people to find me, I wouldn't have covered my tracks so well."

"Alright," Sam conceded. "What are you doing here?"

"Why do I have to be doing anything but catching up with my two favorite hunting buddies?" Alice said innocently.

"It's been over a decade since you've seen us from your persepective, and we've been back for two years," Sam responded bitingly. "If you were going to give us a social call, you would have done it sooner. Why come around now?"

Alice sighed beleaguredly.

"Fine. I'm in town looking into all the crazy shit that's gone down over the weekend," she lied smoothly. "Then I spotted you two the other day, and followed you back here. I figured we could pool our resources on this one."

"We've got it covered," Sam said immediately.

"Sam," Dean started.

"Come on, do you even know what you're hunting?" Alice interrupted, directing the question at Sam. He floundered for a moment, before setting his jaw.

"We've got a few theories," he snapped.

"Alright, let's hear them," Alice challenged.

"Can you two just not?" Dean groaned, standing. "Look, Sam, Alice has figured out it's a shifter causing all the trouble. She knows where it is and everything."

"A shifter?" Sam asked dubiously. "What about the EMF?"

"Not connected," Alice said dismissively.

"So what, it's just a coincidence that we were getting off the chart EMF readings at Gorder's and the mayor's house?" Sam demanded.

"Must have been," Alice said insistently.

"That's some coincidence."

"I won't argue with you on that."

Alice held Sam's eyes defiantly, and Dean glanced between them as they stared each other down. He clapped his hands together in an attempt to dissolve the tense atmosphere.

"So. It's great to have the team back together," he said sarcastically. "Alice, since you know where the shifter's shacked up, why don't you stake the place out and keep an eye on him. I'm at least getting four hours in before we try to jump this freak. Sam, you can go with her, or stay here, or..." Dean trailed off, and shrugged. "I don't know. Go play Galaga. Look at some porn. I don't care. Any objections? Comments, questions, suggestions?"

Sam crossed his arms over his chest unhappily as Alice started for the door. She stopped at the nightstand, and scribbled an address on a scrap of paper.

"The shifter's here. I'll be there too, waiting," Alice said shortly. She swept past Dean and Sam to the door. "Sweet dreams," she called over her shoulder.

"Dean," Sam started as soon as she left.

Dean shook his head vigorously, and flopped down on the bed.

"I'm sleeping!" he said, pulling a pillow over his head. "Night night Sam. See you in four."

"Dean," Sam pressed.

Dean fake-snored loudly, but otherwise ignored Sam. His breathing evened out soon after, and he was genuinely sawing logs before long.

Sam groaned, and plopped down on his bed, kicking his shoes off and letting them fly across the room to thud against the wall. He reached over to the window and closed the curtains. The day outside was gray, the sky blanketed with dark, low hanging clouds, some of which were descending to become a fog that threatened to envelop Dalerton completely. It was foreboding weather, and it fit Sam's mood.

He didn't know why Alice Smith had chosen now of all times to waltz back into his life, but her chance encounter story didn't ring true to him. She had some reason for showing up, and Sam suspected that trouble would come close on her heels.

Perhaps even greater trouble than he and Dean were accustomed to dealing with.