When the Cradle Falls

Chapter Thirty-Five: Amaretto

"Fuck fuck fuck," Dean growled under his breath as he stomped across the uneven sand of Lake Michigan. He knotted his hands through short about, fretting about the bombardment of emotion he felt. And tt seemed the further away he got, the madder he became at himself, his brother, Alice, and his father.

If he really thought about it, it wasn't about Piper's daughter-what was her name? Dean couldn't even remember.

He had already been angry after Sam decided to bring up their father, who was probably burning away in Hell as they spoke. The fact that John had made a deal for him and was now suffering eternally was something Dean always kept on the back burner, but every time Sam opened his mouth, it moved the already present issue to the forefront of his mind. Any time Sam tried to bring up Dean's feelings only made him feel worse.

It left Dean with a mess of emotions he didn't know how to control. Normally-if no one reminded him of his sorrows, he could at least pretend to be sarcastic and carefree. But set off, like a rocket into space, he couldn't help but let his anger out of the first target he found-which happened to be the daughter of Alice's cousin. It was a strange mix where he saw how hard his kids were trying to be strong, but also he unleashed the previous anger he had felt. If he thought about it later, Dean knew it was just older kids being a little mean to older kids. But it was Cara and Noah and he was so fucking angry.

There was a part of him that felt bad for screaming at Piper-she hadn't done anything and her daughter had hardly done a thing either. But, he wanted to channel his rage into something palpable, and the teenager distantly related to Alice did the trick. It had been the first thing that set him off. As if he was looking for a reason to be made when he already was.

But in his blind rage, he had triggered Alice and caused her to spew a truth both of them knew. His children were still waiting for the day to pick up the ball he dropped-the ball of being a father. At least John Winchester had stayed with him and Sam-most of the time. But Dean? No. He rarely was ever with his children, and still had the audacity to call them that.

He wished that sand he kicked up reacted more than a simple puff that quietly sank to the ground. The lack of a response fueled the fire in his stomach. It was something he had been repressing since he had woken up from a coma and watched his father die before his eyes.

In his head, he knew how repetitive it sounded, but there were few other things he could focus on. And to push everything else he was tormented by to the side, it invovled moving from the shitty sand onto solid concrete.

A few moments later, Dean was pounding along the solid sidewalk of Chicago. He was surrounded by people dressed for work-all minding their own business. It was this kind of solid ground that made him feel a bit better. Each step be took reverberated into the ground. It was solid. It made him feel more satisfied in his anger than the squishing sand. With each reverberation of his boots on the ground, his feelings of helplessness and frustration rose. And apparently, there was no cap to how high the swell of emotions in his head could go.

And he'd been holding them back for so long. From the moment the demon was on their radar, Dean had been trying so hard to hold everything at bay. There was always something that came up. Dad being kidnapped, the car accident, Dad dying, the demon bitches possessing Cara and Noah and Jan dying.

But finally, it felt like they were in the shitty shitty aftermath. All the dust and debris had settled, and Dean had been holding his breath the entire time, wondering if there was another piece that was going to crumble and fall. The result of his first exhale seemed to just add to the destruction.

And although, on the surface, Dean knew that everything that happened was something that sucked. But in his core, he knew all of it was his fault. It wasn't something he could deny. He had seduced Alice as a teenager and had gotten her and their children trapped in the spiderweb of his life. By leaving Sammy and Dad to go visit her in secret, Dean had left a gaping, undefended hole in their family, a smoking crater. Eventually, it drove Sammy away and caused John to grow even more distant. While no one but him knew it, Dean had been the one that quietly and unintentionally undid the family ties, which had maybe never been that strong to begin with. If had he tried just a little harder, maybe there could've been a calm on all fronts. But there were casualties, the wounded that needed to be tended to and the dead that needed to be buried.

He thought more about storming away from the beach. He probably looked like a psych-a jackass at the least. God knows Alice wouldn't want to see him for awhile-which mean he wouldn't be able to see the kids. And he could only imagine the self-pitying, please-talk-to-me look Sam would have when he came around again.

God, Dean wished he had his car. At least at the point, he could burn rubber at a hundred miles an hour, as opposed to walking aggravatingly slow down a busy city street.

In that moment, he wanted to kill something, screw someone, and down a bottle of whiskey all at once-anything that could fill the void he felt, and also shut up the thoughts and emotions raging against his skull.

He walked unseeingly, a curtain of red shut over his head, blocking the world that seemed to distort away from him as he moved. It was like sunlight bending away from the curve of the earth.

Walking in random patterns and crazy lines for a few more hours, Dean eventually ducked into a bar. It was embedded into a city block with a red front, the title written in gold, peeling letters. It looked like the kind of place that already had people pounding back drinks at eight in the morning.

Striding to the bar, Dean climbed onto one of the bar stools. "A shot of whiskey and a beer please.. Just keep 'em both coming."

The bartender, a skinny guy with long hair and a long beard, in a leather vest, smirked. "Long night?"

"More like stressful morning," Dean muttered, as he pounded back the first shot. He took a sip of his beer as the bartender placed another shot in front of him.

The man stared at Dean for a moment. "I know that look. Lemme guess: a woman?"

"That obvious, huh?" Dean asked.

"Afraid so. The old ball and chain will do that do you."

Dean scoffed. Alice wasn't even his ball and chain. She was his...so maybe he didn't exactly know what she was other than the mother of his children. They both loved each other but they weren't exclusive-right? They'd never talked about it, but did Alice assume some things about them that Dean hadn't even thought about?

Great. Their relationship status was just more shit he was going to have to figure out.

A few feet over to his right, a stool scraped across the floor. "Hey, Greg. Get me the usual."

The bartender, Greg, pulled out a bottle of Amaretto and lemon juice, and began mixing them. Placing a cherry and orange slice as garnish for the drink, he slid the finished product across the counter towards a bottle blonde woman in pink sweatshirt. Her red thong was visible beneath a pair of low rise, rhinestone-studded jeans.

"How're the kids?" Greg asked.

She scoffed. "Just dropped 'em off with Liam for the rest of the week. I've got three and a half days worth of drinking to make up for."

"How's the business, Shanna?"

"Well, I get to set my own hours, so that's all I need. You mind putting a splash of gin into there?"

While he was pouring, Greg glanced at her mischievously. "You watching the Cubs game later?"

The woman snorted into her drink. "I told you if you wanna talk about baseball, I don't wanna hear you use that name. If you wanna come over to the dark side, the Sox and I would love to have you...who's the new guy?"

Greg shrugged, glancing sideways at the young guy that looked like a model, wearing a leather jacket in the dead of summer. "Woman issues."

Shanna raised her eyebrow, and slid her tongue across her top teeth. "Uh huh. Interesting…"

Alarms going off at the predatory gleam in her eye, Greg leaned forward. "No. I don't want you meddling with anymore of my patrons, Shanna. Leave the poor dude alone. He doesn't need to deal with a man-eater right now."

She grinned. "You think I'm a man-eater?"

"You know what you are."

"That's right I do." Taking one more sip from her drink, Shanna pulled up the sides of her thong a little higher on her hips. She unzipped her velour sweatshirt a bit, revealing the edges of her lacy white bra, all the while ignoring Greg's protestations.

Walking around the brooding man, Shanna allowed her hand to slide across his back while she took a seat on his other side. "Haven't seen you here before."

Barely sparing her a glance, Dean didn't even bother with a verbal response. He just shrugged his shoulders.

Shanna leaned forward a little bit, so her knee was pressing lightly against his thigh. "So listen...I heard you were having lady troubles. If you wanted...I was maybe thinking I could help you out with that." She finger-walked her hand up the side of his arm.

Dean took a swig of his beer, staring straight ahead.

"What's your name?" She asked. He continued to ignore her.

"I'm Shanna. Can I call you Mr. Handsome?"

Her hand began to massage his shoulder. "Aren't you hot in this jacket, baby? It's already eighty degrees outside. I can help you take it off it you want."

"Shan, leave the man alone," Greg implored.

Turning her head to the man behind the counter, Shanna glared at him. "Don't you have some glasses to polish on the other side of the counter or some cases of Old Style to count in the back?"

About to tell her to leave the man alone again, Greg suddenly stopped. There was a flash in Shanna's eyes with a level of ferocity he'd never seen before. Suddenly deciding it was best for him to leave her to pester this poor man, Greg flipped the towel over his shoulder and headed towards the back.

Once he was gone, Shanna flipped her hair over her shoulder. "So uh...listen. I've got a place a couple blocks away from here. And it's all mine until Sunday night. The kids are with the ex for the weekend."

Eventually, the hand that had suddenly slipped to his inner thigh was enough for Dean to turn around and remove it. When he finally looked at her, he immediately noticed the shapely breasts straining against the sweatshirt, and the supple skin-

"Look, I don't doubt that you'd be a fun time, but I'm really not looking for anything right now," Dean said with a thick swallow. It seemed to alcohol and the blonde that was hanging off of him had things up to a point where he aware as to what was going on.

Her hand slipped downwards again. "Playing hard to get is only gonna make me want you more," she told him, dropping her voice a few octaves.

Suddenly jumping up at the placement of her hand, Dean stepped away from the persistent woman. "Whoa whoa. Look, I'm flattered. Really. And you're um...you're hot. Like really hot. But...I just can't. I'm sorry." He fumbled over his words and feet, feeling his resolve wearing away.

Dean reached into his wallet and threw two twenties down onto the bar. "Sorry. Maybe under different circumstances. I hope you find what you're looking for." Dean turned and began for the exit, wondering what the hell was going on with him.

There was silence behind him for a moment, and he figured Shanna had lost interest and went back to nursing her Amaretto Sour.

"I wouldn't walk out those doors without me, Dean."

Hand hovering above the handle, he suddenly froze.

"Come have a seat, baby."

Spinning around, Dean saw Shanna, patting the bar stool beside herself, her eyes a pitch black.

Another damn demon? He couldn't catch a fucking break from those hellspawn.

Swallowing, noticing there were several others in the bar, Dean carefully walked towards her, ready to grab the holy water flask in his jacket. "What the hell do you want?" He demanded.

"I want you to come with me," the demon said, her eyes flicking back to a normal color.

Dean felt himself sneering. "And why the hell would I do that?"

Pleased with herself, Shanna let her arms rest on the bar, as she leaned back. "Because if you don't, I'll re-decorate this place will the guts of all these alcoholics."

"Leave 'em out of this."

"Then you better not walk out those doors without me."

As she said that, Dean moved to grab the holy water from his pocket, but before he could even reach into his jacket, the demon grabbed his wrist in the painful grip. She twisted and Dean's knees bended as he winced.

Standing up and over him, she reached into his pocket with the other hand pulled out the holy water. "So predictable. Don't be a caricature of yourself, Dean." She twisted his arm further, sending him to his knees. She smiled. "This is a nice view."

"Which one are you, bitch?" Dean sneered, trying to act like he was in control of the wildly escalating situation.

"You wouldn't've heard of me." Shanna patted his cheek with one hand. Releasing him from her grip with the other, he went sprawling to the ground.

Dean slowly stood, and glared at the monster defensively.

Shanna crossed her legs, resituating her position on the stool. "So, you have a choice now, Winchester. I won't stop you from walking out those doors but I'll make a meal of all these morning drinkers. Or you come with me and I'll spare these poor pathetic bastards."

"And what exactly else could you demons want with me?" Dean demanded.

The demon just smirked.

Dean rolled his eyes in aggravation. "Jesus Christ you make Helen Keller look like a chatty Cathy."

Deciding she'd had enough sitting there, Shanna slid off the stool and started to move forwards, like she was stalking her prey. She trapped her bottom lip between her teeth and made a low, pleased sound. "Mhm. And you make Michelangelo's David look like a deformed Chernobyl victim." She lightly scraped a nail down the side of his cheek, watching as he swallowed and tried to remain composed.

Shanna let out a laugh at his discomfort. Chucking her chin towards the door, she nodded. "Let's get out of this dump and go somewhere a little more fun." She watched Dean's hesitation. "Like I said, come with me and these losers can live to see another day ruined by alcohol. Your choice." She held out her hand.

Glancing back at the slumped figures sitting at the bar, Dean contemplated the outstretched hand. It didn't take much convincing for him to grab her hand when he knew there were innocent lives at stake.

Once his hand was placed on her palm, she clamped her fingers around his hand like a venus flytrap catching a bug. "Good choice, baby. My name's Talla, by the way."

The car jerked to a stop suddenly. The only thing that kept Cara and Noah from slamming forward were their seat belts locking.

"What do you mean Dad's in trouble?" Alice demanded. She turned around to her son in the backseat, heart beginning to beat faster.

"What did you hear?" Cara asked, her eyes worried.

Noah locked eyes with his sister, fearful. Both of them ignored their mother as he told his sister. "Screams. Someone in pain. I think it's Dad."

Cara covered her mouth with a gasp, and turned back around. A set of horrifying images began to flash through her mind. She wished she could just disregard what her brother said, but he was always right with these feelings he had.

Alice's head spun as she tried to intake everything. "Dad? You heard Dad screaming? What-"

"We need to find Uncle Sam," Cara suddenly realized, spinning around in her seat to look at her brother. He had a hand pressed to one of his temples. She could tell he was still hearing it.

"I think you're right," Noah muttered, feeling like he was out of breath.

"Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?" Alice demanded.

The siblings looked back and forth between each other. They knew their father vaguely knew of Noah's strange premonitions-and their mom had no idea. Both thought she was going to lose her mind when she found out.

"We'll tell you...we just need to find Uncle Sam first," Cara insisted. The activity in Noah's mind seemed to increase as he shut his eyes tighter, both hands winding around his head. He bent forward in apparent pain.

"What's wrong with him, Cara? Noah, are you okay?" Alice asked. "Noah!"

"Yeah...fine. Just do what Cara says," Noah muttered, head held in his hands. His words were barely audible.

"What is going on?!" Alice demanded.

"If you just start driving towards him, we'll tell you," Cara said.

"And how the hell am I supposed to know where he is?" Alice asked. As she said that, someone behind her laid on their horn.

"Oh for God's sakes," Alice muttered, as she turned on her hazards and pulled over to the shoulder of the road, putting the car in park. She turned in her seat and glared between her two children.

"I'm not going anywhere until someone tells me what the hell is going on."

Noah glanced at Cara for help.

"Hey, I'm calling Uncle Sam here. You tell her. It's in your head anyways," Cara muttered as she cagily pulled the phone to her ear, glancing out the window, tersely.

"Thanks for the support sis," Noah muttered, looking out his own window for a moment.

The sound of his mother clearing her throat brought him back to reality.

"You gonna tell me what's going on here?" Alice asked.

Noah laughed nervously and looked around, half wanting to jump out of the car into oncoming traffic. Just so he wouldn't have to tell his mother about his weird premonitions.

"So...see Mom...I get these weird-"

"-premonitions," Cara supplied, half-listening from the front seat.

"Yeah. Right. I get these weird premonitions, apparently. I hear these things in my head-"

"Hear what?"

"Well, before all the demons and everything, I heard glass and metal crashing. Like a car crash. And then Dad was in a car crash. And when we were at Aunt Jan's, before everything, it wasn't a sound in my head-but I still had this bad feeling that something bad was going to happen. But, I think I felt it even before then."

For a moment, Alice forgot where she was. It was like she was suspended in space among the stars, sucked up into a black hole until she was infinity and nothing. Her head felt like a helium balloon, ready to float away, but attached to a bag of sand that prevented her from rising up and popping into the troposphere.

"So...you had this feeling that something is wrong and then heard what was wrong?" Her spun faster than a carnival ride. "And I'm just hearing about this now?"

Noah glanced down at his lap, guilitly. "Guess so."

"Cara?" Alice asked, turning to her daughter, who seemed to know what was going on.

Cara shoved Alice's phone back at her mother. "Sam told me where he would be. You should drive fast," Cara advised.

Alice was faced forward, hands gripped on the steering wheel, foot poised over the gas, like she was going to move. But she felt like a wax sculpture, frozen in time and place.

"It's Dad. You should go. Please," Cara urged, with a little more force.

Feeling the words jar her core and feeling like she had learned nothing, Alice forced the car out of park and burned rubber, a billion questions still bouncing around in her head.

Dean stepped out into the afternoon sunlight-Christ, how long had he been in the bar for?

His hand was wrapped around Shanna's-Talla's?-and he felt himself glaring into the mid-sunken sun.

"What time is it?" Dean asked, feeling dazed.

"12:12," Talla offered, her hand gripped tight around his. "PM, by the way."

Dean sneered as she clenched his hand. "Yeah, thanks, I gathered it wasn't the middle of the night."

Talla smirked against his writhing arm. "Just wanted to make sure you were at least somewhat lucid."

Dean sneered. "Well I am. Congrats."

"Well, let's go then." Talla tugged him forward, only making it about three steps before he stopped completely.

Not wanting to draw a scene to herself. Talla stopped and allowed Dean room to try and pull himself away. Her grip tightened. "What did you think was going to happen after this? That I would just let you walk out those doors on your own?"

Dean shrugged. 'I guess I hadn't thought that far ahead."

Talla scoffed. "Shocker. Well, since you don't know, you're gonna come back with me to this single mom's sad apartment."

"And why would I-"

"Don't make me cause a scene, Dean. With this many witnesses, it'll be a bloodbath for them."

Clenching his jaw, Dean glanced around the bustling sidewalk. The bitch was right. Although it was less crowded now that the morning rush was over, there was still a steady stream of people passing them. Besides, without his holy water and salt, there was nothing he could do short of trying to be a demon to death.

God, Dean really needed to learn those exorcisms.

"Come on, baby," Talla commanded through gritted teeth, trying to mask the irritation in her tone.

"So you're just gonna drag me all over Chicago like a doll?" Dean demanded, as he half walked, was half pulled by her. Although the vessel was just some blonde, barely five feet tall, the demon inside probably could've thrown him across the street with minimal effort.

"Only for a few more blocks." The further away from the bar they got, the more the demon's true personality was starting to come out. She was shedding the alcoholic, slightly slutty single mother persona and showing a much more terrifying side. The demon had a cool, stoic kind of presence; one that barely seemed to be holding back.

"So what?" Dean asked as they continued their trek. "You got some personal vendetta against my family too? Cause if that's the case, you're gonna have to get in line."

"Not personal," Talla replied, yanking him across the street into oncoming traffic when he hesitated. "I'm just good at following directions."

"So you're some bureaucratic bitch then?"

"Better than being a man-child about to piss his pants in fear."

"I'm not afraid of you," Dean growled. "I've faced way worse."

"Oh you will be. Just gimme a chance to prove myself." Talla abruptly turned and dragged him down an alley, stopping in front of a staircase designed as a fire escape.

She finally let go of his hand and nudged him towards the stairs. "Go. Second window on the third floor."

He glanced up the metal staircase and covertly glanced over his shoulder at where they were. It was a one way alley, and the only way out was past the demonic bitch. There was no one around anymore, but he was sure that as soon as he got out onto the sidewalk-if he even made if that far-she would make good on her promise and rip apart the closest pedestrian.

She scoffed. "I wouldn't try anything. But if you want to, see how far you'll get."

"Bitch."

"Nice come back. Not that I'd expect anything more from the brain damage you undoubtedly have from dozens of concussions. But, if you don't climb, I'll keep lowering your IQ." There was an edge in her voice, like a sharp knife ready to cut into his brain.

"Fine, I'll climb. Don't get your panties in a twist."

Smirking, Talla swivelled out one leg, sticking her hip out towards them. She snapped the band of the thong. "They're nice, no? A little sluttier than I'd normally do." The intonation in the way she talked changed, making it sound like she was an American trying to do a foreign accent. Dean wasn't sure if he imagined it or not.

With an aggravated sigh, Dean ascended the unsure staircase, every step nearly buckling the entire structure. He felt Talla keeping up a solid, steady pace behind him.

Dean was nearly shoved through the window for taking too long. He found himself crashing onto a gaudy, maroon colored shag carpet, his rolling body coming to rest against a gross, brown suede couch.

Particularly feeling the alcohol at the moment, he sat up and glanced around the room. "Holy shit this place is a dump."

The demon scoffed as she casually slid through the window. "Well, the bitch that owns this place has at least three STD's. I don't know what you were expecting, but you really need to lower your standards."

"They were already pretty low," Dean scoffed. He flopped down onto the couch, and crossed his leg over the other, like it was his choice to be there. But inside, he was screaming. He knew he was in deep shit.

Talla passed him and walked into the kitchen. "You want a drink? Don't know why this bitch bothers going out when she has enough booze to last her through Armageddon. Well...we'll see how she does. Money is on her dying in the first week."

Dean scoffed.

Raising an eyebrow, Talla turned to him while she unscrewed a bottle of Amaretto-really, again? "What?"

"Armageddon. Please," Dean replied in sarcasm.

Taking a swig straight from the barely empty bottle, Talla slowly walked towards Dean, her hips swaying back and forth. "What? You think this little blue marble is just gonna keep spinning forever? I've been around a long time. And I can tell you we're closer to the end than the beginning."

The facetious smile on his face fell slightly. The way she talked was so sincere, as if having some first hand knowledge. "You're not serious."

Talla shrugged. "Not saying an asteroid is gonna plow into earth tomorrow, but your children may not live to see their hair turn gray."

"Lying bitch," he growled. Defensive hackles raising, Dean launched off the couch, his hands grabbing near the demon's neck. That's all it took. Mentioning either of his kids turned into a raving lunatic. He yelled incoherently like one, suddenly remembering why he was in that situation: because he had gotten pissed off and tried to take it out on an inappropriate outlet.

Removing the hands from around her neck, Talla shoved Dean back into the couch with such a force, both he and the couch slid back several feet, knocking into the wall.

Jarred by the speed of the movement, Dean propelled himself up, blindly grabbing at the demon in front of him again.

And again, like a flash of lightning, the demon moved with intent. She grabbed one of Dean's wrists and clipped it into a heavy duty handcuff that was hung from a chain, bolted to the ceiling.

For a moment, Dean hung limply, taking longer to process that he was know chained to the ceiling.

"Would you believe it if I told you this was already here?" Talla asked, pouring some Amaretto into a coffee mug. "I don't know what kind of freak has handcuffs in the ceiling in the middle of her living room, but this lady does. Also has a stripper pole in the bedroom."

Talla scoffed into her drink. "Man, her kids are gonna be fucked up."

Finally setting the drink back down, Talla perched on the edge of the coffee table, sitting a few feet away from Dean. "I thought you'd have more to say about this, Dean."

"Not to you."

Talla grabbed his chin with one hand. "It's okay. Go ahead. I know you've had those thoughts screaming in your head since Daddy died."

Dean glowered at her, and tried to jerk forward, only able to move several inches.

Frowning, Talla released his chin and sat back down. She slowly picked up the drink and swirled it around, all the while studying Dean's face.

"The hell are you looking at?" Dean finally demanded, as Talla's gaze bore into his.

"Nothing...I just thought you'd put up more of a fight. I heard you were going to be a challenge, but you're a pig walking willingly into the slaughterhouse."

Talla clicked her tongue and stood. "I'm a little disappointed. Others have really talked up your reputation. I was hoping you would've been able to get it up. I guess I'll have to help you out."

"What are you-"

Spinning around, Talla grabbed a sharpened, shining knife from behind her and jabbed it deep into Dean's shoulder.

In surprise, Dean let out a well of pain, that bounced against the walls of the crappy apartment. He yanked forward against the handcuffs. "Son of a bitch!" He hissed, vision blurring around the edges for a moment.

Hand still around the hilt, Talla sneered at him as she dug it in further, and proceeded to twist it around his shoulder.

"That's right. Let it all. Let it all out; all those pent up emotions you've been pushing down. Cause guess what, they're gonna come out, Winchester."

Talla's triumphant laugh filled the apartment, mixing with Dean's screams.

Hastily parallel parking along a mostly abandoned street, Alice slammed the door behind her, after telling Cara and Noah to stay in the car. With only a few feet away, she could see Sam, hunched forward, elbows on his knees. There was a cup of coffee in one hand, while the other cradled his head.

"Sam," Alice said, out of breath, stopping a few feet away from the bench.

Sam looked up at her. His face was expressionless, as if he wasn't processing everything that was happening. Everything he saw was on the verge of being double. "Alice."

"Dean is in trouble."

"Yeah, I think he is," he said, looking back down at the pavement. If he stared at something that moved for too long, he was afraid he'd throw up.

"Well where is he? What are we gonna do, Sam?" Alice demanded, her voice slightly louder than intended. After hearing Dean was in trouble and that Noah had some kind of freaky visions, she felt wildly out of control of everything, including the pitch and intensity of her voice.

Closing his eyes, Sam winced against the sound scraping against his eardrum. This vision had been the worst by far and had incapacitated him much longer than the others had. Like he was hungover, he still felt the lingering, spinning effects of it.

Trying to get out of her own head a little bit, Alice finally saw how helpless he looked. Freezing for a moment, Alice took a deep breath and sat down beside him. "Sam? Are you okay?"

He squeezed his eyes shut, even more aware of how crappy he was feeling. "Yeah. Yeah. I'll be okay. Just gimme a few minutes."

"What happened?" She asked softly.

"After-after everyone left, I had a vision."

"A vision. You saw him?" Her voice was beginning to rise in pitch again.

Sam nodded, wordlessly.

"Did you hear him, too?" Alice asked.

He nodded again.

"And he was screaming, wasn't he?" She began to feel sick like Sam, actually having to say it out loud.

"How'd you know that?" Sam asked. He felt alarmed at that, but his portrayal could be considered or mild interest.

Alice couldn't keep the bitterness from her voice, even when Dean was in danger. "Apparently my son has auditory premonitions. Didn't know you saw stuff. Didn't know Noah heard stuff. Guess Dean just loves keeping secrets from us."

Sam's breath caught. "Noah has visions?"

"Sort of. He heard Dean screaming. That's why we knew to call you. Weren't you wondering that?" Alice asked.

Honestly, the thought hadn't even occurred to him. But the more he thought about that, the more it made sense. He remembered back to the strange physic-like dream Noah had, foretelling the presence of demons that was shortly going to be in the child's future.

Perhaps Sam should've told Alice about the dream, but two things stopped him. First, he didn't want to stress her out any further than she probably was. And second, he didn't want to have to deal with her reaction. Perhaps when they got Dean back, he tell her then, so she could be angry with both Winchester brothers in one tidy unit.

"Of course Dean doesn't tell me anything that's going on. I'm so tired of him picking and choosing what secrets he keeps from me." She stopped for a moment, and realized her anger at him had to be stowed away until later. "But first, we need to find him," Alice said, swallowing the barrage of confusing and messy feelings.

Sam did the same, but instead pushed back the physical symptoms. Now wasn't the time to wallow in how shitty he was feeling.

It was time to find Dean.

They had been relegated to waiting in the car, once again. Cara felt like this was a trend that was going to continue.

Wrenching her gaze away from the window, Cara glanced back at Noah. His eyes were closed, head rested back against the seat. He looked like he was sleeping.

"You doing okay?" She asked.

"Yeah." The volume wasn't the issue, it was just what he was hearing. The car crash had been annoying and given him anxiety because he hadn't known the source. But hearing his Dad's screams grated away at his sanity like it was a block of cheese.

Huffing, Cara swivelled back to looking out the window. Her mom was now sitting beside Uncle Sam on the bench. She could tell her mom had chilled out a little bit; she wasn't flailing her arms or freaking out as much anymore. That was good. It was hard for Cara to deal with her mom when she got like that.

"Didn't she say she was gonna let us hunt now?" Cara asked, half to herself. If they were made to wait in the car while Alice went to talk to Sam, what were the chances they were actually going to be able to actually help in the field?

Noah ignored her.

With an angry mutter, Cara placed her head against the window, and continued to watch her mother and uncle talk about whatever it was she wasn't allowed to overhear.

And although it was easier said than done, Cara just wanted her dad there. Over the past few weeks, they'd had a bumpy time, but in the end, he had proven to be there for her.

And now maybe, she had to be there for him as well.

Upon hearing her phone ring, Piper snapped it open, answering it in the middle of the diner. She didn't even check to see who was calling. It had been sitting next to her plate of untouched pancakes.

"Hello?" She asked, excitedly.

"Is it Merrill?" Seth asked, from where he sat across the table, fork poised over the omelette he was currently smashing, but not eating.

"Hey, Piper."

Shoulders slumping a little, Piper tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice. "Alice."

"Look, I know you probably aren't in the mood to hear this, but I need your help. Dean's missing and-"

"You're kidding, right?" Piper cut her off. "My daughter is missing, Alice. Dean is a grown ass man who apparently feels the need to take his anger out on teenagers. You don't see me calling you up to help look for Merrill. We take care of our own, Alice. Deal with your own man."

"Piper please, Dean is really in trouble-"

With a scoff, Piper ended the call. Her cousin had some nerve.

"What's going on?" Seth asked, trying to put together a story with half of the conversation he heard.

Piper threw her phone onto the table. She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. They had spent a few hours looking for Merrill. And while Piper knew how easy it would be for her daughter to get in trouble, the mother still knew that as long as Merrill's anger wasn't caused by her father, then Piper knew at least her daughter was likely getting some space, and not doing something stupid. At least hopefully not too stupid.

"Alice said Dean was missing."

"What?" Seth sat up a little straighter.

Piper frowned at her brother, not knowing why he cared. "Yeah. She said she wanted our help."

"And you told her to kiss off?" Seth demanded.

She crossed her arms and leaned back. "Yeah."

"Why would you tell her that?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because she asked for our help!" Seth said, like he had just asked her what color the sky was, and she said it was red.

"Well, I've got my own daughter to worry about. And besides, you think I'm gonna help look for him after what he did to Merrill?"

Gritting his teeth, Seth watched his knuckles turn white as they gripped the edge of the table. He loved his sister. He really did. But, it was times like this he wanted to throw her across the room and knock some sense into her stubborn head. She was the most pigheaded, obstinate person he'd ever met. And she'd always done it to be a contrarian. When she was angry, whatever someone wanted her to do, she was sure to do the opposite of.

"Look, what he said to Merrill was out of line, but why are you assuming Merrill didn't deserve it?" Seth asked.

Piper scoffed. "Really, Seth. Nice? Real nice." He was moderately surprised she didn't reach across the table and punch him in the face.

He ran a hand through his hair. It was like trying to box a brick wall, reasoning with her when she got like this was damn near impossible. "Look, I know you know how Merrill can be. You've said it yourself thousands of times. She can be a bitchy teenager. That's just a fact."

Piper bit the inside of her cheek and watched her brother through slitted eyes. Her fork ominously tapped against the edge of her plate as she decided her next reaction. If Seth had been a random stranger, she would've flattened their ass for saying those things about her daughter. But, it was her brother after all. And while he wasn't entirely wrong, she wasn't about to tell him that. "Still my daughter," she finally said, the fork still tapping against the plate.

Seth swallowed a bit and tried to try a more diplomatic approach. "Look, we just came from our mother's funeral-"

"Estranged mother."

"Still our mother. And you're the one that said you wanted to let go of all the anger-"

"Oh don't use my words against me, little brother. I'm really not in the mood."

Seth stared at her for a moment. "So that's it? You're not gonna help Alice?"

"Why should I?"

"She helped save your daughter. She told us our mom was dead."

Piper scoffed, and took a sip of her scalding, black coffee. "If I recall correctly, she just stood in the corner in fear. When she actually did fire the gun, it almost hit me."

"Seriously, this is how you're gonna be?" Seth asked in disappointment.

She leaned back. "Guess so."

"Don't do for Dean, do it for Alice. Pipe, she's family-"

"Yeah? And Olivia was too...at one point. Cliff was my husband. Family doesn't mean a damn thing to me, Seth. Not when my own sister betrayed me, and our own mom killed our dad."

Seth's mouth fell open in. He felt like he'd been electrocuted. It wasn't something that had been said out loud in a long time. "Piper, you know that's not how it happened."

Her eyes glistened a bit. "What do you know? You were a kid."

Face becoming stony, Seth angrily slid out of the booth. "You know what? Fine. You sit here and pout and I'm gonna go help my family. Because unlike you, it actually means something to me."

A few seconds later, the door of the diner slammed back against the wall, the bells above it happily singing someone was exiting.

Finally alone, Piper gripped the ceramic mug in one hand. One the side, it was a panoramic photograph of Chicago, proclaiming it's beloved pet name, the Windy City. She glanced at the static, pixelated bottom of the picture: Lake Michigan.

With the sudden urge to throw the mug, Piper roughy slammed it down on the table and removed her hand from the mug. She balled her hands into fists and shoved them in her head, teeth grinding.

She bit her tongue so hard she tasted blood.

Damn, she thought.

She needed a cigarette.

The only thing that kept Dean from being a pathetic, panting, bloody pile on the floor were the creepy sex handcuffs that had apparently been industrially screwed into the ceiling. And while the demon said it had been nothing personal, she sure had no problem stabbing and slashing her way through, doing it with the same intensity as a crazy girlfriend burning her ex's clothes in the front yard.

However, while her actions were on the level of batshit crazy, she had remained cold and calculating, much more like a CIA agent interrogating a foreign agent for intelligence, rather than a psychotic ex.

"You're wondering how the neighbors aren't hearing you scream?" Talla asked. She took the bloodied knife and wiped it on the couch. Probably wasn't even the worst fluid that had been on there either.

"Not really," Dean smarted, spitting out a wad of blood and spit onto the hideous carpet. It was hard to think about anything else but the pain.

Strolling over to the wall, Talla banged her fist against it. "Reinforced. Completely soundproof. Crazy sex sadistic woman that lives here."

"Your accent is slipping."

"Excuse me?" Talla asked.

Dean attempted at what he thought was an unaffected smirk. "Your American 'accent?' I can tell it's fake."

"Complimenti. And guess what? That still doesn't help you at all." Talla was swigging straight from the bottle now. "You know what 'Amaretto' means in Italiano?"

"What?" Dean asked with mock enthusiasm, trying to keep his mind off the pain radiating from his entire body.

"It means 'a little bitter'. I guess you could say I'm that."

"Can't you just have a drink without it meaning something?"

"I didn't intend for it to have any meaning. But maybe, I should admit something to you, Dean Winchester."

"What?"

She turned her head to the side. "You're a much more agreeable person than I thought you'd be." She plopped down onto the couch, careful to avoid any disagreeable stains. "I'm actually enjoying your company."

"You're delusional."

She laughed. "I'd be careful about what you say to me. I have no problem continuing to carve you up. I also have no problem sitting here, having a conversation with you. It's your choice."

"Why am I here?" Dean asked.

Talla scoffed. "Your family has been a pain in my kind's side for a long, long time."

"Thought you said it wasn't personal?" Dean asked, throwing her own words back in her face.

"Vero," Talla conceded. "Still, you should watch how you talk to me." She held the knife up, slightly menacingly.

Dean observed her. She didn't seem particularly upset with his question. Even when her actions seemed wildly chaotic, she managed to keep her head. She was playing with him, like a cruel lioness, belly already full, that had caught an antelope out of boredom. Even if she seemed like she was okay with letting him toe the edge of being a smartass, Dean could tell she was in absolute control.

It seemed she had possessed a meatsuit with similar inclinations, Dean thought, as he tugged on the handcuffs.

"What do you want, Talla?" Dean eventually asked.

"Whatever my boss wants."

"No. What do you want?"

She smiled at him knowingly. "What my boss wants." There was a much more noticeable accent in how she spoke now.

"Really? You're telling me the only reason you're into whatever you are is because you're such an altruist?"

"Everyone looks out for themselves in one way or another, bello. And the best for me is what my boss wants."

"Who's your boss?"

Talla gave a wide, white smile. "Oh I think that would give away too much."

Dean frowned deeply. It caused blood from a cut along his hairline to drip into his eyes. He blinked harshly several times, shaking his head trying to get it out.

"Azazel? That your boss?"

For the first time, Talla gave a genuine reaction. Upon hearing the name, her eyebrows shot up, and the wrist holding the bottle of Amaretto went limp. But, as usual, that split second of surprise was the only organic emotion she let show.

"You figured it out," she finally admitted. And all the while, she didn't seem that upset about it-actually, she didn't seem any which way about it.

Dean noted that. "Did you want me to figure it out?"

She shrugged. "Yes. No. That is not what matters."

"Why am I here, Talla?" He asked, with a little more force.

Talla contemplated that for a moment. She didn't need to think of the answer-she knew that. But she was actually deciding if it was okay to tell him at this point.

Shrugging her shoulders, she sighed. "Fine. I'll tell you." Her tone suggested he had pried it out of her with a knife, instead of the other way around.

"Okay...why am I here?"

Talla sighed. "Like I said, it's nothing personal."

"Yeah, I gathered that."

Slinky standing from the couch, Talla moved towards him, bottle of Amaretto in one hand, knife in the other. She plunked herself down on the coffee table, facing him. She brought the flat side of the knife up, and tapped it against her cheek in contemplation. "How do I say this? You're...the honey. I'm the flytrap."

Dean frowned, at first wondering if her understanding of English was really that bad she didn't understand figurative language.

But after a few minutes, an alarming understanding clicked in his head. "I'm bait?" He eventually asked.

The demon brightened. "Ah. You understand. Si. You're bait. Esca."

"For who?" Dean demanded.

"I thought you were smart." Talla almost seemed disappointed. But Dean knew it was all manufactured.

Seeing he was struggling for an answer, Talla helped him out. "You're the bait, manichino. You're the bait for whatever Azazel wants."

Talla raised her eyebrows, as if waiting to see Dean caught on.

"You're the bait for your brother and son."

This was originally part of a longer chapter but I wanted to put something out to you guys since it's been awhile. Thanks for everyone that has stuck with me and for being patient. I'll be a college graduate in a few weeks and just have a lot to do as the semester wraps up.

V.