Disclaimer: Own nothing but my own desires to play in the sandbox. And my deep desire to obtain reviews.

OH! A little reader input is requested. Any thoughts on John Winchester? Dead, alive, or MIA? Let me know how you would feel to see him in the plot line.

Sam stood by the cabin door, hoping to deter Alice from leaving. She sat at the small table in the cabin, as did Bobby and Garth. An open bottle of whiskey sat on the table, no one speaking. Sam watched Alice's face, she had seemed genuinely upset to deliver the news but Sam was waiting for the other side of the coin. It didn't take very long for it to flip.

"So what do we do now," asked Garth. He had been toying with his glass, trying to avoid having to drink it. He had no taste for the hard stuff. "Is there some kind of cure?"

Sam watched Alice's eyes narrow as she stared at the empty glass in her hand. "The only cure for a Wendigo is fire," she replied without looking up. "I'll get some men and take out the nest."

Bobby snorted and slid the bottle across the table to Alice. "Do we look like a bunch of lilies to you? You got all the help you need right here."

"I don't expect you to hunt down your own," Alice said. "You'll hesitate. More people will die. Better to get some help that won't get in the way." Sam didn't miss how her eyes seemed to light on him for a split second before coming to look at Bobby.

They returned to silence for some time before Sam spoke up. "How did you know where to look," he demanded. "I looked everywhere and never saw any sign of a nest."

Alice didn't even turn towards him as she answered. "I don't answer to you, Sam Winchester. You wanted him found. He's been found, just too late. Don't get in my way, I have a responsibility to my community to make sure this doesn't continue," Alice said sternly.

Bobby sighed and turned to Alice, his annoyance plainly visible. "You know, this is Sam Winchester, right? Not John," Bobby said. "Don't confuse the two."

Alice rolled her eyes and looked from Garth to Sam to Bobby and finally back to the bottle. "Sam? Do you have any idea how a Wendigo is made?"

"Cannibalism," Sam said. "Over time they crave nothing but human flesh and become reclusive; takes a long time. Dean has only been out there a few weeks."

Alice nodded along and added, "The Algonquin's believed that it happened in different ways. A person who is unable to be satisfied; greedy, can become one. That the evil spirit of the Wendigo can overtake such a person and mold them into a beast. They can never be satisfied, no matter how much they eat or kill. They lose everything because nothing is enough."

Sam dropped into a chair at the table and filled his glass. "You think Dean was a prime candidate, don't you," Sam asked, for the first time wondering if they had ever encountered Alice before now.

"You would know better than anyone," Alice replied. "It's been years since I saw you boys last, but yes."

Sam's head shot up, scrutinizing her face. There wasn't anything he recognized about her. Bobby, sensing the change in conversation excused himself and walked outside, followed by Garth. Alice waited until the door was closed before she turned back to Sam and said, "Bobby told me that either I spill it or he will."

Sam slouched in the chair, waiting for her to continue. "You've met us before?"

"I met your dad a few years back. You were just a tiny thing then, Dean just as protective as could be," Alice said, a fleeting smile on her face before the hardness returned. "Your dad was just getting started and he needed information in this area, demon tracking. He was full of fire, but had no idea how to use it."

Sam slid his glass across the table, letting it stop next to her own empty one. She filled both as he thought over what she said. Something didn't fit.

"Alice, you're like what, mid-twenties? Early thirties, maybe," Sam said, laying a pistol on the table in front of him. "You're lying to me and you threatened to kill my brother."

Alice smiled and laughed. "Give it your best shot, Sam, your dad did."

Sam could feel his face start to burn; she certainly had a way of pissing him off. A lot like Dean actually.

"You won't remember this, I can't imagine that Dean would either," Alice said, suddenly serious. "Your dad met me during a hunt. Actually, he was hunting me. I'm human, don't get me wrong. But I have a unique….curse, we'll call it. Either way, every so many years I reinvent myself and work to reestablish myself into the hunter's community. It's what I do. I'm like Bobby, I research, I bail people out of jail, and my phone is never off."

"So how did you not end up dead," Sam asked.

"He called Bobby, who vouched for me," Alice explained. "I owe Bobby for that, and always will. But it also put John Winchester in my path and that's not an easy thing to deal with. He dropped you boys off at odd hours, for sometimes weeks, Dean went a whole semester in a local school here. You had your first overnight trip in the emergency pediatrics unit while you stayed here, scarlet fever. Not very common, but you came in contact with an exposed neighbor who had dropped off a bushel of bloodroot."

Sam sat quietly, shocked to hear what she had to say. He didn't remember any of it; he also knew Dean had never mentioned any of it either.

"So…what's the plan, Sam," Alice asked, setting her now empty glass upside down on the table. "You can kill me. I can leave. We can flip a coin for Dean if you want. Not for life or death, but for who strikes the match. It's the only way."

Sam looked at the pistol and then back to the whiskey. "We can look for a way to turn him back," Sam said slurring slightly; he knew he was past his limit. "There has to be a way."

Sam jumped as Alice slammed a quarter on the table. "Heads or tail," she said. "Your call."

So, this is short chapter because I need your help!

First, John Winchester: Dead, Alive, or MIA as usual?

Second, who wants to see Garth continue with the plot?

Third, I solemnly promise not to romantically involve Alice with anyone.

Give me feedback! Give me reviews! Private message me if you prefer. Whatever-communicate people! It's what separates us from the Wendigos…..and feral cats…