CHAPTER THIRTEEN

He wanted to think it was the pain that woke him. Or perhaps it was some strange, suspicious sound far off in the distance. Or maybe there was an angry alarm clock he mistook for screaming. But Sam knew it was all a lie. He couldn't hide behind the phantom of denial. The vision he held next held him in its unrelenting talons, securing him so that he had no other choice but to watch.

He was walking up the familiar driveway of his parents' two-story house in Lawrence. The door was unlocked, the lights off. The only noise was from the TV playing to a younger John Winchester, asleep in his Lazy-Boy. The TV flickered at his presence.

The sight of his sleeping father told him where he was and on which night. Silently, he strolled up the creaky stairs, past all the happy family photos. He chose not to look. It would only be unbearable. Only having been in the house once before, he remembered where the nursery was and it was there he would find some answers. The lights in the hallway were dim, flickering with his every step.

The room was the second on the left. With bated breath, he entered and found a man in dark trench coat leaning over a crib, whispering. Angry, he lunged forward but instead of tackling the demon, his ethereal form went straight through, falling into the baby blue wall. The demon remained where he was, unaffected.

The floor creaked and his mother appeared in the doorway. She was tall and beautiful in a long satin negligee. He smiled having only seen her in pictures and the recent vision he had of her in Cold Oak's woods. "John? Is he hungry?" She whispered, sleep evident in her tone. The demon answered with a "shhh." She shrugged it off with an "okay" before strolling away.

"That's right Mom, stay away. Don't come back."

He stood up, intent of fighting the demon somehow. If this was indeed the night his mother was killed, he had to do something. Approaching the demon, he tried to use whatever power the monster gave him and blow him to bits. However, his attention was drawn to something else: something that made his heart want to stop all over again. Peering over into the crib at the chubby cheeked and jittery infant, the breath caught in his throat at seeing the red dots aligning the boy's –his- mouth. It was then he noticed the demon had its wrist extended.

His jaw dropped. The demon was feeding the baby its blood.

He felt suddenly dehydrated and he wanted to gag. Blood! He was fed blood. And not just any kind of blood: demon blood! So that's how he marked them. That's why he and the others had powers. They were demon hybrids.

Mary flew back into the room and stopped. Instantly she recognized the demon and said, "You." Sam's heart pounded faster. She knew the demon! What? How? She ran forward to attack. It was then the demon trapped her to the ceiling.

The vision transformed into another.

Buildings were massive clumps of rubble adorning the dimly lit streets.

He surmised this was the place where the final showdown would occur; where the demon's overall plan would transpire.

The discarded street sign Collard lay crinkled amongst the rubble. Perishing screams persisted throughout the scene. Everywhere he turned, there was chaos. He saw a werewolf chasing two teenage girls. Sidewinders climbed the bricked walls of the remaining buildings. He turned around again facing an intersection, the same intersection with the Yellow-Eyed Demon and the band of people.

There was something different.

The same four people, beaten and gagged, sat on their knees huddled together in a circle. But now he could see there were others surrounding the small group. He instantly recognized several of the faces. He saw Lana and Flash. There was Sloan and a few of the other psychics that joined in on his ass-kicking in Cold Oak earlier. He expected them to be smiling, relishing in the events to come. But they weren't. They stood resolute. Determined. Frightened, even.

He moved closer to the circle. Yellow Eyes had raised his arms up expelling out his devilish chanting. The sky streaked purple and red. He felt the ground quake. The blinding light that devoured the four was about to occur.

Before it did, Sam took one more look at the group of psychics backing up their glorious leader. There was one, a very tall one, at the front, standing directly behind the demon. He moved around to see who it was. His heart felt like it stopped. He stared with absolute horror, in abhorrence.

It was him. He stood tall behind the demon with his demon-slaying knife in hand and a nefarious grin on his face. He recognized this grin. It usually occurred when something was going his way, like he knew of the foreboding events to come and liked it. Wanted it. Craved it, so to speak. And it was about to happen. His mind couldn't comprehend what he was seeing. No way could he turn dark side. But there he was, a soldier, ready to do what his leader bid.

Something struggled beneath his evil self's foot. He looked down and this time he dropped to his knees. It was his brother, Dean, pleading with him to listen to him, praying that he would find himself once again and fight. His evil self didn't listen. The Demon turned to him and nodded. He nodded back, raising the knife. Sam screamed for him to stop just as his evil self brought the knife down for the killer blow.

He awoke with a start, emitting a small "ah". Instantly his sweat-perforated face fell into his hands. His heart thumped madly and he fought hard to control his radical thoughts. What was that? Was that a vision, like so many he had seen before? Or was it a nightmare? A vision his mind conjured that displayed what he feared all along? Either or, it scared the holy hell out of him. Could he turn so evil, that he would kill his own brother? After everything, was that where his destiny lied? He was soon to be the Yellow-Eyed Demon's first-in-command. Fear, like none he had ever experienced, riddled his body, producing an undulating ripple he couldn't shake.

Whispers diverted his attention away from his wretched thoughts. He looked up gaining a semblance of his surroundings. He was in a room, not like the cabin. It was fortified, the walls made of steel. And it had a musty, salty taste in the air. He guessed the walls were soaked with salt. The cushion he sat on squeaked and he realized he was on a cot, under scratchy blankets. A small table stood next to his cot, the demon dagger and a glass of water residing on it. Okay?

Confusion was a persistent mallet. He remembered the fight with Alex. Towards the end, there it became a guessing game. Someone came to his rescue. That much he knew. He remembered the bloody hand that fell off the bedspread. The insane popping that turned out to be gunshot sounds. He remembered a figure had come in and it wasn't Dean. He couldn't remember who it was. Everything was all so conflicted.

One thing he knew for certain was he had to get out of here, wherever here was, and seek out his captors. That much he figured for himself. Someone found him and brought him here. And if it wasn't Dean, then he was sure he had a fight on his hands. He unfurled the itchy blankets off his legs, placing his bare feet on the freezing cement floor. And that was when he noticed something else.

His leg! It wasn't broken anymore. How the hell did that happen? Plus, there was no pain. Huh? No inhibition. No tight constriction across his chest. Even his heart, after it calmed down from the dream, felt fine. That pervasive feeling of sickness he associated with "rejection" was gone. It was nothing short of a miracle, but alas, he was healed.

In fact, he felt better than ever. He also perceived he was in new clothes: black sweatpants and a new tee. He stood up, relieved to do so. It had been too long where he was incapacitated. Now he had a new vigor. This was better than receiving a 174 score on his LSAT.

The whispers grew louder. They were located outside the door to the room. Listening in, the speakers seemed to be arguing. One of them sounded like Dean's voice. He didn't recognize the other person. It was a woman. Perhaps it was Maddie? No, the person sounded older.

"…I'm telling you, you need to let him see me first." He heard Dean say.

"I'm sure he'd be fine."

"No, he won't. I know it's not your fault for being out of the picture for so long, but trust me on this. I need to break it to Sam first. He won't understand."

What wouldn't he understand? He was a pretty smart guy. It wouldn't take him long to figure it out whatever Dean was talking about. And who the hell was so insistent upon seeing him? His therapist?

Actually, now that he had thought about it, he wouldn't have minded seeing a therapist.

There was a short "fine," and then the door opened with his brother walking in cautiously. He paused. The short, little eyebrows rose in consternation.

"Oh! You're awake? Did you hear—?" He pointed behind him towards the door.

Sam answered. "I know someone wants to see me. Who's out there?"

"I'll get to that in a minute." He strolled over and sat on the cot.

Annoyed, Sam blurted, "Dean! Come on!" He sat down on the cot beside him.

"Hear me out. I know you're pretty down in the dumps right now, not having a freaking clue what's going on?"

"Understatement. What is going on? How did we survive Alex's attack? And how the hell am I okay?"

"One question at a time dude."

"Then start talking. Who saved us?"

"Well that's the thing…" he scratched his head, dipping it down. He appeared to be having a hard time figuring out how to relay the answers. It was driving Sam crazy.

"Okay, let's start slow then. How was I healed?"

"Actually, that was a demon who finally got his mojo back—"

"Huh?"

"Don't worry, he's under a spell so he doesn't pull a Judas on us. But he's got a set of magic fingers that can heal. He's the one who patched you and Maddie up." At Sam's pressured look, he added, "She's fine by the way."

"Who's out in the hallway?"

"Yeah, that's the one I gotta figure out how to break it to you."

"Just tell me!" He was really aggravated now.

That someone then walked in to the room unbeknownst to Dean's knowledge. The breath caught in Sam's throat and he backed away, alarmed. The person smiled. But he wasn't. Instinctively he went for the knife left on the table, took aim, and threw it.

Mary evaded the slung knife by twisting her head to the side in time. The dagger was flung with such force, it embedded itself into the metallic wall. She returned a small smile, "That's my boy!"

Dean soughed long. "Yeah, Mom's back."

"And so is your father," Mary said, approaching the wall and pulling the dagger out.

Sam looked to his brother in disbelief. All manner of speech escaped him. He had seen pictures of his long-ago dead mother, but never once had he dreamed of finally meeting her. He was out of breath as his eyes flitted between Dean to his mother and back to Dean.

Dean extended out the introduction. "Sam? Meet Mom. Mom? Meet your psychic son….p.s., don't kill him."

Mary gave her eldest son an annoyed look. "Thanks for the heads up. He seems lucid and ready to talk. I think I can take it from here."

"Give it a minute," Dean relayed.

Sam refused to loosely accept the situation. He suddenly appeared as though he was drowning, all the more terrified with his erratic thoughts running amuck. The confusion clouded every sense of judgment and reasoning. He felt trapped. Therefore he couldn't help not freaking out.

"Oh my god. I knew it. I knew it. I knew I was dead. I knew I was dead. There was no way we survived that." That would explain why he felt no pain. Why his leg wasn't broken. He turned to Dean, who his murky reasoning believed was just an apparition of his brother. This was some type of purgatory setting where he met his entire family before the grace of Death claimed them all. It was the only logical standpoint. He said, "I'm so sorry. That guy was too strong. I fought him with everything I had."

"Sammy, listen—"

"There was nothing. I mean, nothing! You could've taken a bazooka and he would have kept on coming. And he was just the first. They're all like that…"

"Sammy. I'm not. We're not….okay!" Next, Dean smacked him upside the head.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"See?"

"See what?

"You're not dead." He pinched his bicep which elicited a nice yelp.

Sam was still unconvinced. "So that means you're…and you?"

"Uh huh. We're all alive and kicking."

This was all too much. That trapped feeling was like an invasion of a pernicious bug in his mind. He saw the door and leapt up, attempting to make a run for it. Mary caught him by the wrist, and with a grip he wasn't expecting, spun him around. "Hold on there, kitten-kaboodle. Sit!" She tossed him back onto the cot. "Cool your jets kid. We're not the God-fearing vermin that put you in this position."

Sam remained breathless. His mother sat on the other side of him.

"Question on my mind is whatcha planning on doing once you knock us all out and try making a break for it? You can't get very far…not in your condition." She said this carefully, motherly. At his quizzical look, she said, "Your brother told us about your heart."

Sam tensed, wrapping his arms around his torso, feeling insecure. "It's fine. I feel fine. How are you here?"

"Angels. They brought your father and I back. I'll leave it up to your father to explain why."

"Was it Caroline?" Dean asked.

"No."

"Caroline?" Sam questioned, confused. "Who's Caroline?" Dean, then, felt it was time to inform his brother of the sneaky angel who had helped him. He explained how it was she who sought him out at the diner during the first time they were admitted to the hospital; how she was there even during the fire at the Orphanage; how it was she who had talked to him at the park while he went off with Kylie to the bathroom. His mind was racing. However, it all began to make sense why now he had her heart, though he didn't relay this to his brother, or his mother. It was then he made the other connection.

"So it was Caroline whose parents we went to visit. She's an angel. Was it she who brought you back?" Sam asked Dean, dolefully. His brother's downtrodden gaze answered his question. "I figured Yellow-Eyes was telling the truth. He'd want me to have something else tormenting me while I saw people being hacked to pieces."

Dean bit his lip as that last question now caught his mother's attention. He sighed deeply. "Yeah, it's true."

"What's he talking about Dean?"

It must have been the pressure both family members pushed upon him, or it was some deep, anguishing feeling residing on his conscious that he wanted off. Because in that minute, the usually reserved Dean Winchester who kept every emotion to himself, opened and revealed what went down the night he killed himself. He went over every detail where he felt there was no other choice. He told them how he paid a straggler to help him with the delivery, how he put the gun in his mouth, and how the afterlife really was an insensitive bitch. He told them how something brought him back from the dead and he wasn't sure who it was until he and Sam drove out to Oregon to see Caroline's family. After the revelation, he decided to tour the entire country, tracking down the Demon, starting with newsprint about mothers who died in their infant's nurseries. And so far, all he managed was for the Demon to find them, kill Bobby, and kidnap Sam.

"Dean," his mother began…

"Stop," he raised a hand, "I don't mean to apologize for my actions. I made a decision and went with it. If I had the choice to do it again, I would. Sam, your life is more important than—"

"Oh shut up!" protested Sam. His nostrils were flaring. He was angry. "That whole 'I laugh in the face of death' thing is such bullshit! You are such a self-deprecating bastard and it is so freaking annoying! So what? You're the guy who has nothing to lose now? Is that it?"

Dean shrugged, "If the shoe fits."

Mary got up and crossed over to cabinet on the far end of the right side of the room. She pulled out a bottle of Jose Cuervo and took a mighty swig.

"Jesus, Dean," Sam continued. "What is with all the kamikaze trips man?"

"Oh come on, kamikaze? I'm more like a ninja."

"That's not funny," said both Sam and Mary in unison. Sam turned to his mother and saw she had the same pursed lips, scrunched brow, and teary eye as he. He suppressed the desire to stare, because let's face it: this was the very first time he has ever met his mother. He returned his attention back to his brother.

"How the hell did you expect me to get over that? My brother kills himself so that I would live? Huh?"

"It wouldn't have worked anyway."

"What?"

"Caroline showed me that…my sacrifice…was for nothing. You still died." That, Sam, wasn't expecting. "She brought my ass back and gave me a message that the demon was on the move. She said to protect you at all times, so that was what I decided to do. That became more important than any bullet in my mouth."

"Dean, sweetie…" Mary intervened, with a very fake smile. It was something akin to Sam's smile whenever he was about to unload a verbal lashing. "…we love you, but you're an idiot. Did it ever occur to you that perhaps that's probably what the demon wanted? He's been trying to divide this family up for years."

His brother went quiet.

"I, for one, am glad that Caroline brought you back. We can only get through this as a family. However, whatever you do, don't tell your father. He may not react to this as understanding as I am. I won't lie to you, I'm pissed. But there's nothing we can do about it now."

Dean appeared ashamed, but only for a slight second.

"Now Dean, can you go get your father? We both need to talk to your brother. We'll talk while you keep a lookout." It was no secret, Sam thought. He knew she meant to discuss his certain psychic situation.

"No, whatever you've got to say, you can say it in front of me."

"I understand your imminent need to supervise and guard your brother, and I'm thankful for that. But, I need to talk to my son."

Sam watched Dean with determination. He really wanted to see if his brother would crack under the pressure. To his surprise, Dean relented. His mother had a power over him that he'll probably never understand. His brother stood up, stretched his arms, and walked out the door.

Sam looked at his mother in admiration. She was quite beautiful, even if she looked as though she wanted to pull her eldest son over her knee and give him a good thumping. Then she looked at him and he gulped. Her stare went straight through him. She was all business.

Well that could've gone a lot better Dean thought sarcastically. He knew the revealing to his self-destructive ways would come out to a heavily armed welcoming. But, at least, he thought, he didn't get shot.

An amalgam of feelings pilfered his subconscious and he couldn't decipher which emotional filibuster he felt more of. He was confused. He was so delirious with exhaustion. He wanted this nightmare to end all ready. But there was no distinct pattern on how to end this terrible debacle. And now his parents are back!

It was an odd and puzzling predicament. And no one was talking —which made it worse. Oddly he felt like the Greek figure Tantalus, whose eternal punishment was to stand, chained, reaching for food and water, unable to acquire either one. Every time he reached for an answer, it eluded his grasp. And there were so many questions.

Obviously his parents were resurrected by an angel. And according to his mother, it wasn't Caroline. Then who was it? And could they be trusted? It lightened his spirits a small amount. It signified there were others on their side, but how many, and for how long before they caved into the weight of the war's despair?

John was still keen in keeping mute on the subject, further subjecting him to the soldier-commander "do, don't ask" routine. Thus learning how his father knows the dirt-sucking demon Marco will probably end up under the mystery section, along with other mysteries such as the Bermuda Triangle and the ancient civilization Atlantis.

One thing was for sure, until he did receive some answers, for his brother's sake, he couldn't trust his parents. For all he knew, they could be working for the wrong side. He even had a slight qualm in leaving his mother with Sam. It was quite obvious she was a hunter, and if she were like the many others he encountered in this world, it wouldn't take much for her to put a knife through that new heart of his. There was no grey area in a world of black and white.

He had to laugh. Fate really was a bitch sometimes. Thinking back to his fifth birthday as he blew out the single candle perched vertical into the row of Twinkies, he made a wish. And that wish finally came true. For the first time since that horrible night with the fire in 1983, his entire family was together. And it wasn't at all as he imagined it. It was quite the opposite. He exited the steel hallways.

The sigil inked on Marco's palm led them to a small bunker beneath a foreclosed library on the border of North and South Dakota. Courtesy to a special magic trick provided by John, the building is invisible to passersby, and can go completely undetected by demons and angels…except for those who know where to look. It was where John and Mary holed up right after they were resurrected. It provided a parlor with, at least, three massive couches, along with many cabinets full of books about the paranormal; several rooms with cots, and a small kitchen. The only window it sustained was a tall one located at the entrance, hidden to bystanders. He left out into the hallway and into the parlor room.

John stood by the tall window staring out, keeping vigil. In his hand was a new smart phone. It beeped occasionally. John checked the source every few seconds.

Dean approached his dad casually. "Careful with that thing. If you don't use it right, you might phone E.T. and his buddies." He quipped. John said nothing but continue his reconnaissance, adding to the awkwardness of the moment. Dean shrugged it off. His father was still the same.

"So Mom let slip that it was angels who brought you back, which was a no-brainer. Ya mind saying who?"

No answer, as usual.

"Am I going to get any answer out of you Dad?"

"Soon," said John glancing back at the phone.

"What are you doing anyway?"

"Waiting."

Again, no surprise there for the short retort. He sighed in irritation. "What are we waiting for? Or who are we waiting for?"

Perhaps it was blind faith that kept him attentive for a small sign that his father would drop the tough leader in a secretive mission act. But, he had to remind himself, John was exactly that. Apparently the legions of Hell couldn't break him. So how did he suspect that he would do so?

"Nice talk there Old Man," he lightly smacked his arm. "Anyways, Sam's awake and Mom wants to see you pronto…to have the talk."

"You take over," was the abrupt reply. He left his position, taking the phone with him.

Dean was flabbergasted. Some welcoming party! This sucked in all shapes, forms, and sizes. His parents were so alienated, so different than they were during his youth. What was going on? Maybe his parents were demons or something else all together? Maybe he should've taken Sam and hit the road like he wanted to, keep low, and to his strengths? He enjoyed the comfort of that thought. He was the only person he could trust. And that felt right.

A large, clattering sound from the kitchen startled him. He swiftly left to discover the perpetrator behind the commotion. It was Maddie. She was struggling with several pots and baking bowls. A couple more bowls fell from her arms. She quickly grasped at them, but failed. The bowls hit the linoleum flooring with a reverberating clang. Maddie swore loudly, tears falling from her eyes. Upset, she dropped the rest of the contents which released equally teeth-chattering clangs. She kicked at the few of them.

Dean stepped in the small kitchenette cautiously. "Hey," he said softly.

She didn't respond, instead went over and leaned against the kitchen sink. Mumbling she said, "Sorry."

"Don't be. I can understand you're a little upset."

"A little upset?" Her bloodshot baby blue eyes rested on him, dangerously. "No, this is a little upset," she picked up a few of the fallen bowls and placed them evenly on the counter. "This, however, is being friggin' furious!" She picked up the bowls and tossed them straight at Dean. He ducked just in time.

"Whoa!"

She screeched, "This is a freaking nightmare! They're dead! They're all dead! I need to wake up!" She tossed a toaster to the wall next to a '50s era Frigidaire. It burst into several pieces.

Dean was slightly alarmed. "Maddie, calm down."

"Get the hell away from me!"

The next to fly was a block of knives. And following after that was an ancient blender that might have been used back in the 1950s. The glass container careened into the wall beside Dean's head. He stepped outside. The girl was causing a scene. He was surprised his family hadn't come to investigate.

"It was you!" she cried, pointing a finger at Dean. "It's all your fault! If you hadn't come into the diner that night, none of this would have happened."

"Oh really?" Dean steeled his resolve and entered the small area once again. "Is that what you really think?"

"Yeah, I do! My mom! My aunt! They're gone. Even that asshole, Alex. My whole family!" She screamed. "Mom! I can't ever talk to her again."

Dean said nothing. He didn't know what to say. His family whom he thought he would never speak to again actually popped out of their graves like daisies.

The distraught girl then went to the wall beside the small fridge and started pummeling her fist into it. Over and over again, non-stop. Dean stood transfixed, unable to comprehend the emotional duress this girl was harboring. He hadn't a clue on how to console. Finally she began to leave some bloody residue, and that prompted him into action.

"Hey! Hey! Hey!" he cried in a litany, grabbing the petite girl from behind the waist and pulling her away from the bulls-eyed target. She struggled, aiming to kick him in the groin. He twisted away. "Take it easy! Take it easy!"

The spitfire in his arms refused to relent. "Get off me! Get off me!"

"Not until you swallow a large chill pill! Stop it!"

With her struggles, they both fell to the floor, but he clung on, hoping – actually, praying- she'd chill out. She fought hard against his grip for what felt like an eternity. A couple minutes went by and they were still molded together, Maddie issuing out insulting curses every two seconds. It even amazed him how creative the insults became the longer he held her pinned against her will.

Finally, the girl calmed and he released her. She sidled over and sat against the sink cabinet opposite him, appearing disgruntled. He said, "Cool enough now?"

She didn't respond but glance at him in annoyance.

Dean shrugged. "Wow, we got a little extra saucy today. Anymore tangoing and I'm sure we can make guacamole."

Maddie huffed. "Shut up!"

"Sorry, I can't. It's like a switch that won't turn off, especially when there's a girl who needs a little loving right now."

"This woman doesn't need any loving right now. Just something to smash!"

"Always so feisty?"

She sighed. "No, but I don't have my shotgun, so I can't shoot nothing either. And if I can't shoot something, then I need to do some housekeeping. But obviously this place, wherever it is, is nice and squeaky clean. So I might as well break something."

"We've got guns."

"It won't do anything. I want my gun. And I really want to shoot something right now."

Dean smiled. "We've got a demon you can shoot. He'll make a great practice target. I'm sure he'll let you as long as he takes off his jacket and shoes. They're Gucci."

Maddie snorted with laughter, her puffy face softening. "Yeah, he talked to me a bit."

"Uh oh. What did he say?"

"He tried the cheesiest pick-up line ever, but I put him down gently."

"You're so nice. I would've doused some buckshot in holy water and shoot it in his ass."

"Sounds good."

"I know," said Dean amusingly. "Where is he by the way? Last I checked he was all Martha Stewart in the living room."

"Yeah, he's in the back with the ancient sewing machine, creating curtains."

"Why am I not surprised? Of all things he could be doing?"

"At least one of us has the decorative touch."

"You'd think he'd put those skills in something useful…like maybe darts."

"Darts?"

"Yeah…or actually we can play darts and he can be the target." A daydream popped into his head of Marco stuck up on the wall, upside down, while he and Maddie threw darts. All the while he was screaming to let him take off his shoes and jacket so as not to poke holes in them. He emitted a small chuckle.

"You got that vision too?"

"Yup."

"Same one about not ruining his clothes."

"Yup!" They both laughed.

"John told me he knew my dad."

Dean's shoulders sagged. "Was he Mr. McGruff when he told you?"

His question puzzled her. "What?"

"Nevermind."

"Oh," she understood, "No, no, he was kind. I kept trying to figure out how possibly those two could have met. My dad was a journalist…and figuring out that demons are after all real…it makes sense. He said my dad helped him with a couple of weird police investigations around the area; found several leads for him and Uncle Blue. I didn't know they all were like a team. He also told me that's how they met. He was looking into a demon visiting my cousin's house. Apparently it's the same demon you guys are dealing with. So basically in some small way, we're all connected."

"Did your dad die in some freak accident?"

She cocked her head to the side, piqued. "No, why?"

"Just asking. I wouldn't put it passed that if your dad was involved, the demon would've taken him out."

"It was three years later after they came to see Alex. My mom needed some orange liqueur for her baking. The store clerk said he had just walked out the door when a guy with a gun came up, and tried to rob him. My dad tried talking to him, but it did no good. Guy shot him without hesitation. All my dad had on him was a twenty. I guess the guy felt it wasn't worth it, because he never took it."

Dean suddenly felt for this girl. "Oh man, Maddie, I'm sorry."

"Took me a while to get over it. And now I'm dealing with this all over again." She looked to him. "I've got no one Dean."

"That's not true."

"And how's that?"

"Because you've got us. We may not be the most functional family in the world, but…at least we don't bite much."

Maddie became emotional again.

"Hey," Dean crab-crawled forward and placed a tender hand on her shoulder. "We'll get through this. Nothing's going to happen to you. I give you my word."

Suddenly the air was filled with a static energy and he heard the familiar jingle of bells. Dean's instincts located the pulsing friction somewhere in the living room.

"What is it?" Maddie asked.

"Something's here." He ran out, his Baretta out and at the ready.

Maddie intended to follow him. However, she hadn't seen the shadow loom behind her. She was struck with an eviscerating cold and stopped at the door. Looking around, she saw nothing. The cold struck again and she saw her breath. "What the hell?"

Suddenly she felt an invading sense overtake her. She convulsed, the iciness spreading everywhere. It was hard to think, to breathe. She fell to the ground, convulsing. The feeling coursed its way throughout her body, she couldn't fight it. She tried crawling away, that same force dragged her back. She tried to scream, her voice died in her throat. The shadow came down upon her. It was choking her.