When the Cradle Falls
Chapter Forty-Three: Four Roses
A soft ray of moonlight stretched across the carpet of the motel room. Of all the occupants, there was only one awake, sitting on the edge of a bed, toes dipping into the moonlight. Head craning over to the bed furthest from the door, Dean's gaze lingered on the forms of his sleeping children. It was rare for Cara and Noah to share a bed anymore-they both pretty much outright refused now. But tonight, Cara was sitting in bed watching TV when Noah came out of the shower, mindlessly rubbing the wrist that had been cuffed to the bed. Without a word, he climbed in next to her and wordlessly, but playfully snatched the remote out of her hand, promptly changing the channel to some cartoons he wanted to watch.
At first, Cara was irritated, but then she found herself smiling, glad to see something about her life was still normal. They were surprisingly quiet while they watched, not saying much to each other besides innocuous comments about what they were watching. Neither of them had so much as dared to mention their mother again. And after a while, both kids had fallen asleep to the familiar theme song of a show they both enjoyed.
During this time, Dean was like a sentry, sitting at a table near the door. From his seat, he made sure he had a view of the door and both kids at all times. The sound of the door opening to Sam coming back with a 12 pack of beer alerted Dean to his feet, gun trained on his brother.
"What if I was the maid?" Sam asked, setting the package down with a metallic thunk.
"Wouldn't be the first person that got shot tonight," Dean informed, suddenly feeling the matching sting both brothers had.
But it was probably nothing compared to Alice.
The repeated, sickening continued to go through his mind, wondering if she was still alive. He imagined her pulled over on the side of the road, blood slowly draining her body and staining the driver's seat.
Standing abruptly, Dean started to breathe heavily, frantically looking around the dark room.
There was movement, someone sitting up in the room.
"Dean?" Sam asked softly, from the fold-out couch. The younger brother rubbed his eyes and sat up.
"Huh?"
"How you doing?"
"What if she's dead?" Dean demanded, his soul nearly left his body asking that.
Sam shivered a bit and then sad upright. "We haven't heard anything."
"I feel like I need a drink," Dean replied. Upon saying that, his memories flooded back. Cara and Noah were alive. Alice was gone-dead or alive-it took physical force from Sam and Bobby to push him back. Eventually, they procured a different motel room, the kids tucked as far away from the door as possible.
Swinging his gargantuan legs over the side of the couch, elbows on his thighs, Sam made an offer. "I can get you a bottle of whiskey if you want."
Dean checked the time. "I doubt any liquor stores are open at this point."
Sam shrugged. "Bars still are."
One of Dean's lips quirked up in near amusement. "You're gonna steal from a bar?" Sam had always tried to be a straight shooter, and hearing his brother offering to dip into one of life's forbidden indulgences made Dean see that Sam was never really far from their hunter upbringing.
Sam shrugged. "I'll leave a few bucks."
Nevermind, Dean chuckled fondly.
Shaking his head, Dean reached for the remote that was protectively tucked under Cara's arm-after she had stolen it back from her brother. "Nah. I think I'll just watch some TV instead." As much as Dean wanted a drink, he really didn't want to leave his kids alone, even though Sam had offered to retrieve him some low shelf whiskey.
"What are you in the mood for?"
Adjusting so he was facing the TV, Sam addressed his brother. "I don't know if you've seen the new infomercial for those socks you wear that also mop the floor-"
"Next," Dean said, changing the channel to the local news.
The brother's exchanged a few more jabs, watching the late night news discuss how the sitting mayor of a nearby town's biggest competition was a cow named Flossy. Her slogan was Flossy 2B Mayor.
Both brothers were cracking up into near hysterical, silent fits of laughter by the image of a cow with a tiara and sash, casually chewing cud in front of City Hall.
Their laughter was cut over by a red ribbon and a dramatic whooshing sound effect engulfed the screen. The two newscasters appeared. The blonde woman with shellacked hair, a deep voice, and stiff suit appeared much more solemn than she had moments ago. "Just in. An Illinois woman has been shot by her ex-husband. She is in critical condition at the moment at the local hospital."
The other anchor, a man with grayed hair and slouched suit, held a hand to his ear. "I am just getting news that an Amber Alert has been put out for two children. Cara Clemetine Mercer has brown hair, brown eyes and glasses. She was last seen at the Gold Country Inn. Noah Leonardo Mercer has blue eyes, and dark brown hair. He was last seen at the Gold Country Inn. The Illinois woman has been confirmed as the mother. Both children were believed to have been abducted by their estranged father, Dean Winchester, who our sources say has been wanted for several felonies, including first degree murder."
The camera panned out, so both anchors were in the frame, both looking solemn. The woman gave a morbid nod. "We'll provide you more information after our commercial break."
The outro played and a commercial for some sock-mop began to play.
A second later, the screen minimized, leaving the room in darkness.
The only sound was the TV buzzing as it shut down.
Leveled by the silence of the night and faint moonlight, Sam and Dean locked eyes, near frozen.
"We need to leave," Sam said.
"Now." Dean agreed. Even though they had moved to a motel several towns away, he knew they needed to get to the other side of the country ASAP.
Both brothers were up, already wearing their jeans and undershirts, only needing to pull on flannels and jackets. Dean turned to his younger brother. "Everything-"
"All the bags are by the door. I'll put them in the car. Gimme a minute." Within a few seconds, Sam had silently grabbed the bags and opened and shut the door, leaving Dean standing in the room, both kids sleeping as peacefully as they could. He didn't want to disturb them.
Swallowing heavily, he remembered their names and descriptions on the TV.
ABDUCTED it had said.
Processing the news reel he had watched less than a moment ago, Dean's stomach roiled. Alice had obviously made her way to a hospital-which he was eternally grateful for-but had basically said he was her ex who shot her and took the kids, which was pretty much the opposite of the truth.
Critical Condition.
There were still a few iron-cland strings that wanted to find which hospital Alice was in and make sure she was okay. But he knew he wouldn't be able to show his face in this for quite a while. People took murderers seriously. But also, the fact there was a child abductor with two alive kids, who also happened to be an alleged murderer, was a DEFCON-5 scenario.
Dean realized the levity of the situation as Sam quietly burst into the room, keys held tightly in one fist. "The car is packed. We need to split."
There was a hollow moment. "We need to leave the country," Dean said.
Sam frowned minutely, but knew enough crazy shit had already happened in the past week that they could not stop and talk logistics now. They needed to hightail out of there and figure out the rest later.
Before Sam could snap Dean out of his realization, the father turned towards the bed and gently reached for the nearest child-it happened to be Cara. Carefully, he pulled back the covers and slid an arm beneath her knees and back. She muttered softly under her breath-a notorious light sleeper.
Holding his own breath, Dean carefully lifted her. He didn't need her to wake up in the middle of the night, asking questions about what was going on.
Luckily Cara eventually sighed and stilled.
As Dean tucked Cara closely to his chest, Sam bent down and gingerly picked up his nephew. He was careful not to jostle him-not that it mattered. Noah was a pretty heavy sleeper.
And unfortunately-but also thankfully-the two were sleeping particularly heavily, free of handcuffs, chloroform rags, and sleeping pills.
Cara and Noah were carefully placed in the back of the Impala, heads lolling back as the Impala careened out of whatever motel they had checked into just a few hours before.
Behind the wheel, Dean clenched both hands tightly on the wheel. His heel was pressed to the gas, always wary of cops perched on the side of the road. As long as he didn't draw attention to himself or get pulled over, the only thing that mattered was getting himself and get the kids as far away from Alice as they could.
Two Days Later
Plaquemines Parish, Louisiana
Fin & Feather Cabins
Dean supposed this was probably an okay place to stay for a few days. At the near tip of Louisiana, the rickety, half-restored cabins were the first sign of creation after Katrina had come through and obliterated Louisiana's coastline. There were still piles of debris everywhere and it was obvious the water levels were raised. The place was mostly deserted, save for a few locals and a lone construction crew. That was good. The less people the better. Also, it was good that the people here were more concerned with rebuilding their homes than watching the news for missing children "kidnapped" by their father.
Sam and Dean had both been watching the news closely, checking the newspaper, and Internet. So far, the Alice's wild tale had no reached this slice of coastline, a relief.
At the same time—without telling Sam—Dean had seriously been looking for a boat to buy or a ship that would take them out of the country if need be. He didn't care if they went to Mexico or the Bahamas or freaking Iceland. After seeing what Alice was capable of, Dean wanted to be ready at a moment's notice, with multiple escape options.
Satisfied the daily newspaper didn't have any information about them—Dean folded the newspaper and set it next to himself. He sat on the porch of the tiny cabin, the water lapping against the lowest step.
A chair scraping nearby indicated the presence of another person. Looking over, Dean watched as Cara pulled the aluminum launch chair next to her father. She sat down, adjusting the baseball cap so her face was hiding from the hazy sun. There was no way to hide the fact that Amber Alerts had been sent out, and both kids were quite agreeable and helped to keep themselves hidden and disguised. She bent down and picked up the newspaper. "Anything today?"
"Nothing."
"Well that's good, right?" Cara asked, mostly rhetorically.
Dean nodded wordlessly.
Considering all the traumatic shit the kids had been through in the past weeks, they were handling everything with a level of grace and maturity that surprised even Dean. Part of him wondered if they were in shock and the events hadn't hit them full force yet.
"And nothing on Mom?"
"No. I haven't heard anything else about her."
Cara gave a heavy sigh and nodded. "Okay. I can let Noah know when he wakes up."
That kid had been sleeping like a rock. During the night, Noah was averaging about twelve hours, and then taking up to four hour naps during the day.
So maybe they weren't handling it as well as he originally thought.
The pair sat in silence for a while. "Where did Uncle Sam go?"
"He went into town to get some supplies. Got that Nutella crap that you requested."
Although Dean couldn't see, he knew she was rolling her eyes under the bill. "If you tried it I bet you would love it too."
Dean scoffed lightly, but didn't pursue a comment. He hadn't been in much of a chatty mood lately.
Shifting slightly, Cara leaned forward, looking out to the water. She knew that a hurricane had blown through here a few years back. She could see the wreckage, but it was so hard to imagine such a terrible fury, considering how peaceful and calm everything was now. "You know, I've always wanted to live on a beach."
Dean nodded lazily, half paying attention to what she was saying.
"And not like Lake Michigan, I mean a proper beach with sand and a real ocean."
"Somewhere like this?" Dean suggested incredulously. Sure, this place was probably a little piece of paradise at one point, but not now.
She shrugged. "Maybe at a different time. But I guess I can see why some people don't like it."
"I prefer the open road," Dean offered.
"Right. Right of course. And I guess I can see why Mom wouldn't like water either, considering what happened."
There was a beat of silence and Dean finally realized Cara wasn't just idly talking about where she wanted to live when she was older.
That sneaky, clever little—
"We never really talked about want Mom did."
"And exactly what thing that Mom did are you referring to?" Dean asked, full attention on his daughter now. He really didn't want to talk about any of it with her.
"What the demon told me. What Mom was gonna do in the river that day. You just brushed it aside like it was nothing and we never got a chance to really talk about it."
"Okay, first of all, it's not nothing and I didn't brush it aside." Had she forgotten the chaos that had ensued when he found her and Noah? It has been nonstop ever since then. "We've barely had any time to breathe."
"I know. I know that," Cara insisted. She gestured around. "But look where we are. There isn't a whole lot else to do. So we might as well talk."
I prefer it if we didn't.
"You know I'm gonna keep bothering you until we do," Cara informed.
Now Dean didn't doubt that for a minute.
"I don't really know the full story. Mom didn't really want to elaborate on it."
"But didn't you wanna know why?"
Honestly? No. The thought of Alice about to take her own life and that of their unborn baby—especially knowing now that baby would grow up to be Cara—was something he tried to forgive Alice for and ultimately forget about. "It's not something I really like to think about, honey."
Cara nodded emphatically but put her hands up in question. "But I don't understand how someone could ever want to do that. Was I that much of a mistake that getting rid of us was the only way to deal with it? And after that, how do I know she wanted me ever? Did she even love me or am I just some burden who—"
"Cara Clementine, you stop that right now."
Not expecting the harsh tone of voice, Cara cut off her tangent. Oh no. She was in trouble. He hadn't even wanted to talk about this and now she was getting yelled at for annoying him when she should've left it alone. Tears began to prick her eyes.
"Look at me."
Timidly Cara raised her gaze, looking at him from underneath the hat.
In a quick movement, Dean snatched the hat off her head and raised her chin with his finger.
Slowly, Cara finally raised gaze so she was now looking at her father.
"You listen to me. I want you to remember this."
Stunned by the ferocity in high voice, Cara leaned back slightly, but quietly and quickly nodded her head.
"You're not a burden, you never were, you are not, and you never will be. I can't tell you what was going through Mom's head when she stood in the river, but that doesn't matter now. I know that she loved you and she always will."
Dean's voice and eyes softened. "I don't know what's going on with her, but she will always be your mother, no matter what happens." He meant the words, but there was a weird taste in his mouth as he reminisced of what Alice had done that had ultimately put them in this situation.
The tears continued, but for a different reason. Cara's eyes widened in hopeful innocence as the words began to alleviate the torrential battle that had been going on in her head. "You're not lying, are you?"
Dean nearly looked shocked. "I would never lie to you about something like that."
Letting the words sink in, Cara seemed to believe her father. She loved her mother and supposed that it made sense that after everything, even her mother wasn't black and white.
Responding, Cara leaned forward and wrapped her hands around her Dad's arm that was closest to her. Dean placed his head on top of hers. Knowing that both kids were there and safe was the reminder he needed to know everything was at least fine in that instance.
As the two sat, Dean never lost the hunter's gaze. He couldn't see anyone on the coast, save for an unoccupied boat that was tethered to a nearby dock. He had made a note of it earlier. He wasn't exactly sure how to hotwire a boat, but it couldn't be all that different from a car.
A while later, the familiar grumble of the Impala grew closer, the engine eventually going soft.
Emerging from the vehicle, Sam appeared around the side of the cabin, with a plastic bag.
Abandoning her chair, Cara ran to her uncle and forced her way into the bag, rifling around for her chocolatey treasure.
Sam raised the bag so it was out of reach. "Bad news, Cara."
"What? No," she responded dramatically.
"Sorry no Nutella. I did get you some peanut butter though."
"Not the same thing," she muttered, returning to her spot next to her dad.
"And let me guess you forgot my pie," Dean responded jokingly.
Sam's face dropped. "I knew I was forgetting something."
"You're serious? How many years were you in school, filling your head with useless knowledge? And you couldn't even remember the most important thing? My pie?" Dean asked, with a mostly joking edge.
"If I don't get my Nutella you don't get your pie," Cara responded, coming to her uncle's defense.
Sam smirked at his brother. "Hear that? Put in place by your own daughter."
"Oh shut it, bitch."
"Jerk," Sam called over his shoulder as he entered the cabin.
The tension of talking about Alice had finally evaporated as father and daughter went back to watching the water.
Lead-Deadwood Regional Hospital
Deadwood, South Dakota
The nurse typing away at her computer looked up at the sound of someone clearing their throat. She looked up to an older man with a terrible comb over and a beard. He was wearing a gray tweed suit that looked slightly outdated.
"Yeah?" she asked, eyes turning back to the computer.
"I'm here about a woman that was admitted a few days ago."
"The visitor's center is down the hall."
There was a hollow thwump and the nurse looked up again, this time irritated, seeing a shiny badge on her desk.
"FBI. Special Agent Lance Jovi. Is there a supervisor I can speak to?" Bobby asked, shoving his badge back into his pocket, one that had properly jolted the nurse into action.
Up on her feet, the nurse reached over and tapped the shoulder of a passing white lab coat. "Dr. Tefeio, an FBI agent wants to talk to you."
Dr. Tefeio was a woman with olive skin and dark hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Turning to Bobby, she smiled lightly, not at all phased by the fact she has been on a mission and was now talking to a government official.
She held her hand out, trustingly, not even asking to see the badge again. "Emily Tefeio. What can I do for you?"
"Special Agent Lance Jovi. I'm here about a woman that was brought in with a gunshot wound. Name is Alice Mercer. She reported that she was shot by her ex-husband. I was hoping to speak with her. As you know, her children are missing and this is a pretty urgent situation."
Dr. Tefeio was nodding slowly, obviously knowing want he was talking about. There was some hesitation on her face.
"What? Has she been released already?"
She shook her head. "No. She's still here."
"Okay, then I'd like to speak with her. You know, try and get a better idea of where her children might have been taken. Time is really of the essence here." She didn't need to know that Bobby knew exactly where the children were, and also the fact he was in direct contact with their criminal father.
"You can speak to her but I don't know how helpful she's going to be."
Bobby felt his insides twist. He had been the one that shot her. Was she in a coma? On the verge of death?
"She's currently in our locked ward."
Bobby frowned. "What does that mean?"
"Well, you know originally she was here to be treated for a gunshot wound, which we managed, just had to give her a blood transfusion and minor surgery to remove the bullet. However, she was extremely agitated and tried attacking several nurses and PCTS. She tried to rip out her stitches and bandages and attempted to was out of control. So we placed her on our psychiatric floor.
"Originally we thought it might've been a TBI—a traumatic brain injury. Injuries to the head can make people quite aggressive and act unlike themselves. But we found that she didn't have a brain injury after doing a scan. Then we suspected she might be on drugs, but the bloodwork confirmed the only drugs in her system were those administered at this hospital.
"So we performed a psych evaluation on her."
That wasn't something he had been expecting to hear.
"And…?" He was scared to say anything else, for fear that his guilt and worry would give away the facade.
"We don't have an exact diagnosis, but we suspect she may have a mood or personality disorder or a combination of the two. And of course we have taken into account the extenuating circumstances. We're recommending a more comprehensive evaluation for a proper diagnosis, so a referral can be made for better treatment and proper medications."
Bobby nodded, his breath in his throat.
So they had been right.
Alice truly was out of her mind.
"So...is it possible for me to speak to her?"
Dr. Tefeio pulled her mouth to one side. "I suppose you can try, if you think that would be helpful. We've just been keeping her pretty sedated so she might be a bit lethargic or out of it."
"Right. Right. But any information we could get would be extremely helpful."
The doctor looked thoughtful and a bit apprehensive. Bobby wondered how long she had been a doctor for. She seemed fairly young-early thirties at the most. He wondered what the worst thing she'd ever seen was. "Sure. I can show the way."
"I would appreciate that Dr. Tefeio, thank you."
She turned and began to walk towards the locked ward. They reached a set of wooden doors. As Dr. Tefeio looked through her lanyard for access, Bobby noted the red sign posted next to one of the doors.
WARNING: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. THIS DOOR MUST REMAIN LOCKED AND SHUT AT ALL TIMES.
The inside of the ward looked like the rest of the hallway. This gave Bobby some relief. In his head, he was picturing the place to be a rundown asylum with flickering lights and grimy walls.
They came to an ajar door and the doctor turned towards Bobby. "Do you mind waiting out here a moment while I see if she's up to talking to anyone?"
Bobby nodded, head bowed towards the ground. He leaned against the wall beside the door, staring at the white tiles along the glimmering floor. Part of him wanted to run out of the doors and pretend like he had never been there-neither Sam or Dean knew he was there. All they had done was ask Bobby to keep an ear out unless he had heard anything about Alice.
But the old man couldn't just leave it alone. He had been the one that shot Alice. And at the time, knowing that she had shot his nephews and held those poor kids as prisoners, he didn't feel too bad. But once he got home and thought about how much blood had been on the pavement and on her shirt, a bottle of whiskey did little to assuage his fears that he had killed someone that was a part of his family.
Before Bobby could calm his mind, Dr. Tefeio emerged from the room. "She's awake and more alert that she's been in a while. When you're talking to her, don't be surprised if she seems confused or forgets a few things. She's still under the effects of the medication."
Bobby nodded, swallowing thickly.
The doctor checked her watch. "If you need anything, just press the call button and a nurse will be here shortly."
"Thanks, Doctor."
She nodded. "Anything to find those kids."
Once he was alone in the hallway, Bobby slowly moved to the door. He pushed it open slightly, less and less of the room obscured as the door swung backwards.
With one steadying breath, Bobby took two large steps so he was firmly planted on the room. In the far corner, right beside a window, was a white bed.
Tucked in that white bed was an occupant, propped up slightly on some pillows.
The occupant was pale, messy brown hair pulled back into a half ponytail.
Taking a step, Bobby stopped, at first wondering if he were looking at a wax mannequin. Although it has been a few days, Alice's face was gaunt, like she had lost a significant amount of weight. There was a pallid, oily sheen on her nose and forehead, like she hadn't washed her face. There was an open crater in the middle of her face, mouth slack and hung open to one side, giving the impression of hemiparesis. In the middle of her shiny slack face were her half closed eyes.
Upon reaching her eyes, Bobby nearly reached for his holy water. Underneath the lids, it appeared to be so dark, that he couldn't see the white of her eyes. Her normally brown she's were dull and devoid of light, looking close to demonic.
Throat dry, Bobby's voice came out as a creak, as he tried to say the young girl's name.
"A-A-Alice?" He eventually choked out.
The dark, orbed eyes slithered in their sockets, finally landing on the other occupant of the room.
Time cut in half, Alice removed her arms from underneath the sheet. On either wrist, there was a band of irritated, inflamed skin. Weakly, Alice pushed herself up so she was sitting up straighter. There was a creaking sound in her limbs, like a door that needed to be oiled. Her facial features tightened themselves as she moved, pain radiating from her abdomen.
In the same place where he had shot her, Bobby felt a lurch in his own stomach.
If possible, she was somewhat transparent, halfway to turning into nothing.
He had done this to her.
Bobby moved closer to the bed, taking in her state. He was beginning to forget what she had done to Cara and Noah. But this proved that she wasn't in control of her mind when she did.
Her lips moved, but an unintelligible, garbled vocalization was produced. Her jaw remained opened, unhinged.
Knees weakening, Bobby staggered over and sat heavily into the foot of the bed, hands clutching at the edges of the tightly pulled sheets. "Girl, I'm so sorry this happened." It was a watered down apology, but it was the only thing he could think to say and he couldn't stand to sit here and listen to the wretched sounds she was making, like she didn't have a tongue, a voice box, or something.
An approximation, that sounded more like "baa" came from Alice. It sounded like she had forgotten how to use her voice.
"Yeah, it's me. Wanted to check in to make sure you were okay."
Her eyelids drifted downwards, as if she was about to fall asleep-and then shifted up.
"Bobby?"
Stiffening, the old man reacted to his name. The catatonic zombie he saw was slowly reanimating as the sharp, clever girl he knew.
"Allie?" The pet name felt foreign to say, especially considering he was the one that had landed her in this hospital.
The young woman in the hospital rearranged her facial features so she more resembled Alice Mercer.
Alice frowned slightly, but not distrustfully. "You shot me." It was as if she was fact checking the statement.
He hadn't wanted to go there. It was the heat of the moment that made him discharge him weapon into her stomach. She was crazed-had kept her children hostage and shot his nephews. He had to. "I did."
She nodded sharply before her head lobbed around like a bobblehead. "Where are my babies?"
"They're safe. With Dean."
In a heavily medicated state, Alice moved her arms around in extraordinary measures. "Where are they?"
In a real bout of honesty, Bobby shrugged his shoulders. Bobby hadn't really asked. All he knew was that they were getting the hell out of the Midwest region. "Sorry, not sure."
She pondered the question and bobbed her head in a more constructive fashion.
A beat of silence.
"Well according to you...hmm…I guess I'm crazy huh?" Her response was a strange amalgamation of asking and assuredness.
Bobby shook his head, visual time dividing between the neat tile floor and Alice's face.
"You're not crazy. This life does things to you."
She frowned. "What life?"
Bobby glances sideways, thinking of what to say. "Hunting."
Allie frowned, and stared at the white bed sheet, seeming to come more out of her drug, muddled mind. She was still incredibly tired and felt like she was barely clinging to consciousness. She rubbed her wrists, having vague flashes of yelling incoherently, falling out of bed, and lashing out towards people in scrubs and lab coats. I need to get out of here is the only thought she could remember. And then memories of a people grabbing her wrists and tightening something around them, restricting her movements, a pain in her abdomen, and then a sharp stabbing in her arm.
"Then why is no one else crazy?"
"You're not crazy," Bobby assured. "And trust when I say every single hunter is screwed up in their own special way. I mean we weren't why the hell would we be doing what we're doing?"
She bit her chapped lip, deciding what to think of Bobby was saying.
"Do you remember what happened?" He asked softly.
In an exhausted, dejected whisper she asked, "Which part?"
Bobby shrugged. "Tell me anything you remember. It's okay."
Is it? She remembered how angry Sam, Bobby, and especially Dean had been when they burst into the motel room, guns blazing.
"I remember taking the kids and just driving, staying at a couple different motels."
Bobby nodded.
"And then you guys showing up. And then driving myself to the hospital. Don't really remember much after that. It kinda goes in and out." She swallowed, remembering her stitches tearing and the white straps that had tightened around her wrists.
Bobby set his jaw as she retold her superficial version. "How'd you get the kids in the car?" He baited, feeling a surge of righteous anger for Cara and Noah, similar to the anger he felt towards John when the boys were young.
Her lip trembled and gaze continued to fall on the sheets.
"They didn't just walk into the car, did they, Alice?" Bobby inquired in a very controlled voice.
She closed her eyes and shook her head. "No."
"Where'd you get the sleeping pills from?"
She gave a deep shudder. "From work." It was admitted with deep shame.
His eyebrows flew up. "When?"
"When they fired me. I took some before I left."
Around the phone call that Noah was missing and Alice getting fired seemed to be the start of the unraveling.
"Did you take anything else?"
No response.
"Alice."
"Sleeping pills. Just some painkillers and benzos."
"Why?" Bobby asked, genuinely stunned.
Her shoulders moved a bit. "I don't really know. I guess I thought they would be good to have just in case."
Jesus Christ.
Bobby didn't want to think what the in case was.
"Why did you take the kids Alice, and not give anyone any indication where you were?"
"To keep them safe."
He lost the kind edge of was trying to keep.
"Honey, I'm sorry but you and I both know that's crap. Those two kids were terrified of you when we found them."
There was a stifled sob, but she wasn't denying his words. "I'm their mother." It sounded like she was trying to convince herself than Bobby.
"You neglected to mention the chloroform rags and handcuffs, too."
Silence.
"Alice what the hell were you thinking? Dean was out of his mind worried about you and the kids!"
She shrunk down, still not looking at Bobby. "Please don't yell at me. I don't think I'll be able to handle it if you're mad at me."
Stopping his tirade, Bobby took a deep breath. "What you did...it wasn't like you. At all. I just wanna understand what was going through your head."
"I was keeping them safe. I would do anything to keep them safe. I know it doesn't make sense to you, but it did to me, then."
"And now?"
"It still does. But…I can't explain it. I understand why and I had all this determination and energy and now I wish I had that again I just feel drained and tired now. I couldn't do that now even if I tried.
"I'm a horrible mother," Alice lamented. "And I don't blame Dean if he never lets me see them again."
Suddenly, Alice began to sob hysterically into her hands, entire body wracking with grief and guilt. "And what I told them about Dean—that he shot me and took the kids—I tried to take it back but they don't believe me. I'm such a stupid, fucking idiot!" She wailed, hands clenching around the sheet.
"Shh shh," Bobby places a hand on one of hers, first trying to get her to calm down so a nurse wouldn't come in and tell him to leave.
"What did I do to them? All I've been doing their entire lives is screw them up!"
"Shh Alice—Allie. Alice." Gently but sternly, Bobby grabbed her face between his hands and held her face there. "Alice, listen to me. You need to calm down right now. If you don't, I'm gonna be asked to leave and they're probably gonna sedate you for being upset. Is that what you want?"
"Don't—leave—me!" Her words came out between hiccups from crying hard.
"Shh shh, it's okay it's okay. I'm not gonna leave you, girl. Okay?"
"Even after what I did?" She asked.
Bobby swallowed thickly, thinking not of Alice, but of her aunt.
In the crisp autumn air, Jan sat back in the wrought iron chair, sipping the dirty martini between her lips. A smirk formed around the rim of her glass.
A ball in his throat lodged itself against the sharp tie he had worn, even though it was loosened.
Removing the glass from her lips, the edges of Jan's lip raised.
The man across from her leaned forward eagerly. "So, what should we do?"
Jan sighed and stared around the yard. She didn't entertain. Barely knew any of her neighbors. But yet, she was here attempting to entertain. "Do what?" Bobby looked nearly alarmed.
Smirking a little bit, she leaned further back. "I'm just wondering what we should do. You can take a break from that haunting you're working."
Bobby shrugged helplessly. "I just figured since Alice and Dean are in contact, we should get to know each other a little better."
"Hmm," Jan said into her hand, staring at the liquid in her glass. "Suggestions? You wanna go see The Bean? Top of the Sears Tower? How bout Wrigley Field? You seem like a baseball fan. Go Cubs."
He scoffed, and reached forward for the cup of coffee he was sipping on.
"Yeah me either. Can't stand sports," Jan replied, eyeing his drink. "You want something a little stronger?"
"Not a big martini drinker."
That got a good laugh out of her. "I can't imagine you sipping a martini, James Bond. What's your poison? Gin, rum—"
"Whiskey."
Jan nodded, standing from her chair. "If I wasn't sure you were a hunter before, I am now."
She left him alone on the patio for a few minutes, eventually coming back out with two glasses and a bottle of Four Roses.
Once drinks were poured, she sat down and they clinked their glasses together, a nonverbal toast.
"Didn't realize you were such a snob," Jan said playfully, after a few minutes.
He had lost how many times she has thrown him off guard in this conversation alone. "What?" If there was something he had never been called, snob was surely at the top of the list.
She gestured at him. "I see how you're turning up your nose at my bourbon. Look I like backwoods, homemade whiskey is much as the last person, but I find there are some brands there aren't bad.
"I've become quite the connoisseur since retirement."
They had a few more drinks and Bobby finally got the courage to ask her what was on his mind.
He frowned, seeing a flicker of something in her playful, carefree facade. Maybe it was too personal of a question, but he couldn't stop himself from asking. "What made you quit? The only way I've known anyone to get out of the life was at the end of theirs."
The smile was still on her face, but the corners were turned down slightly. A finger ran around the edge of the glass, then brought to her lips, tasting a drop of the golden liquid. "I've lost too damn much to hunting. The only thing I have left now are Allie and those kids. I won't hunt, but I'll do everything I can to keep them safe."
He had heard that before. From himself. When he ran a knife through his wife Karen, he swore he'd never kill again.
It was a short lived promise.
"I've been there," Bobby commiserated. "My wife—she got possessed. And...I couldn't leave her like that. So...you know."
Jan's brows knitted together, heaviness settli around her shoulders "Sorry to hear that. What was her name, if you don't mind me asking?"
"Karen." It felt weird, and almost blasphemous to say her name out loud.
"Karen," Jan softly repeated to herself.
"And you? Who'd you lose?" Bobby asked.
Taking a long sip, Jan breathed through her teeth, to vent the burning sensation in her throat. Like Bobby, it was a name that felt foreign on her lips. "Don. My husband. Hunt gone wrong."
"I'm so sorry, Jan."
They poured another drink and Bobby held his glass up. "To Don."
"Karen," Jan replied softly.
They continued to drink their way through the bottle, the awkwardness between them dissipated, once they realized how much the two of them had in common. Lost spouses, killed brutally, and now surrogate children.
The topic shifted to talking about how Alice ended up living with Jan, subsequently shifting to Sherry and Jim Mercer.
"My sister has always been a real piece of work. All stuck-up and prim and proper from the time we were kids. She was judgemental and nothing was ever good enough for her. So imagine what she was like as a mother."
"Reminds me a bit of John. When Mary died, he spiraled. Now he acts more like a prison guard that a father, sometimes. He forgot those boys were kids. And now Sammy won't even talk to any of us anymore. Wants nothing to do with any of us,"
"Biological parents just suck, huh?" Jan asked bitterly.
Bobby shook his head. "Not all of them. There are some good ones."
"And some really shitty ones."
Stopping to take a look at Jan, Bobby realized she might have been drunker than he initially thought. "I know you said your parents weren't the best but—"
"I'm talking about me Bobby. My kids won't even talk to me. The last time I saw Piper and Olivia was at their Dad's funeral. And Seth left months back."
There was an electrical buzz in the air, Bobby genuinely shocked by her words. There had been no indication that she has her own kids. He hadn't seen any pictures hanging in the hallway, and there weren't even any nuances in the conversation that he could think that indicated she did.
"I didn't know—"
"That's cause I don't talk about them. You know they blame me for their Dad's death. That last hunt the five of us went on—"
"Jan."
"And it was fault. So I don't blame them for ignoring me. But the fact that I'm over here raising Alice and neglecting my own kids—"
Slowly, Bobby slid his hand across the table and covered Jan's. He seen this kind of guilt before. He felt it.
Looking at the hand covering hers, Jan felt the urge to snatch it away. It has been so long since she been touched like that, and it felt terrifying. No one had looked through her like this since Don.
"Sorry. I don't mean to ramble," Jan replied, retracting her hand so she could fix her hair and tear stained face. "You're just the only one I've talked to about this stuff. No one else understands."
Bobby nodded. He knew what she meant. On a few rare instances, he had tried to talk to John, but the latter man had told him to shut the fuck up and to pass him another bottle.
"You're not what you think you are. You're a good mother. You've been there for Alice and those kids and I can tell you've been there for my boy too."
Jan nodded slightly. "I don't want to be like my sister or my parents."
"You won't be. You aren't. Look, you've taken care of my family and that makes you family in my books."
Eyes raising, she searched his face to see if he was joking. "Family?"
Bobby nodded. "We both love Cara and Noah and their crazy parents."
"We're family," Jan repeated to herself.
Looking past Janet, somewhere far off into the city, he felt a warmth around his shoulders. Realizing Jan had gotten up from her seat, was behind him, arms wrapped around his, her face buried into the crook of his neck.
He felt shivers run up and down his body.
Her mouth moved to his face, lips touching the corner of his. "Is this okay?" She asked. "I need someone to hold me."
Moving his face, Bobby placed hands on her shoulders. "I'll take care of you.
"We're family."
Bobby nodded. "We're family, kid. I'm not gonna leave you here, okay? I'll take care of you."
With a heaving sigh, Alice leaned into Bobby's hug, sniffling into his FBI getup.
"I got you, girl. I got you."
By the time it was dark, Noah awoke from his mini-hibernation to find his Dad packing up the tiny cabin they were in.
"We leaving?" the young boy asked, rubbing his eyes.
Stopping what he was doing, Dean turned towards his son, concern marring his face. "You okay?"
Noah yawned loudly, but nodded. "Yeah...I'm tired. But I feel...good." It was true. He was completely himself. There were no other creatures slithering around in his head.
Observing his face for a minute, Dean clapped his son on the shoulder. "Good. You ready? Sammy and Cara are already in the car."
Grabbing his own backpack, Noah nodded, following his father out of the room.
It wasn't the most legal thing, but calling in a fake bomb threat was the quickest way to get Alice out of the hospital.
Amongst all the chaos, Bobby had slipped Alice a pair of lavender scrubs, cut her hospital bracelet—and the two left as an agent and nurse with little fanfare. And technically, one of them was who they said they were.
The car ride back to Sioux Falls had been mostly silent. Alice was awake in the passenger seat, every now and again apologizing for what she had done and thanking Bobby for getting her out of there. Bobby gave her assurances and told her they would figure it out.
Still, he watched her carefully out of the corner of his eye while he drove. Part of him making sure she didn't try to wrench open the passenger door while they were barreling down the highway.
He made sure there were no weapons in her proximity.
And the entire time, Alice didn't once ask about Dean or the kids.
He didn't know if she knew he would say no or if she couldn't bear to hear from them what she has done.
Neither of them were sure.
When they finally got back to his house, Bobby gave Alice a blanket, which she wrapped around herself. Her dinner consisted of a peanut butter sandwich, potato chips, and a full glass of water. The food remained mostly untouched, but the glass was refilled several times.
When she was done, Bobby asked her where she wanted to sleep. Alice had taken one look up the stairs where she and the kids normally slept when she was there.
"I'll just sleep down here," Alice opted, laying down on the couch in the living room.
Relieved that she would be in his line of vision, Bobby sat at his desk, flipping through a book about werewolves, until she was finally asleep.
Then, when she was passed out, Bobby moved quietly around his house. All guns, knives, weapons—hell anything pointy or that could be used for bodily injury was put up, out of sight, and locked away.
Once his task was completed, the old man came into the kitchen and stared at the cabinet above the sink. Slowly, he pulled the door open, glass clinking softly as he waded past empty, half empty, and full bottles of whiskey into the very back of the cabinet. Hand reaching around the neck of a bottle in the corner, he pulled it out carefully, not to disrupt the other bottles.
Turning it over, he held it in his hand.
Four Roses.
With a sharp breath, Bobby unscrewed the cap and took a long swig, immediately thinking of Janet Sutton.
Collapsing onto a kitchen chair, Bobby kept the bourbon clutched to his chest. She had died protecting her family.
He couldn't be mad at that.
But still, it didn't mean he didn't miss her.
"Jan," Bobby said, between sips. "I need you here. I don't know what the hell I'm doing here."
Of course, there was no response. After all, Jan was now stardust and sand swirling around water.
To dampen the quietness, Bobby drank, letting the burning of the liquid blossom through his chest.
They pulled up to a dingy little gas stop with the ironic name of Sunnyside Diner.
Putting the car in park, Dean handed money to his brother. "Don't forget some extra onions this time, huh?"
"Dude, I'm the one who has to ride in the car with your onions," Sam whined, snatching the money from him.
"Will you check for Nutella again?" Cara peeked her head over the front seat.
Sam smiled at his niece. "Of course."
"Hey see if they've got any pie!" Dean chimed in as Sam opened the door. "Bring me some pie, I love me some pie."
"Dad?"
Dean turned towards the back, "Yeah?"
Noah was squirming in his seat. "I need to go to the bathroom."
Dean glanced apprehensively at the diner, and then his brother, who was standing out of the car, hand on the door.
"Umm…"
"Dad I really have to go."
Jaw setting, Dean didn't like his kids going anywhere unless absolutely necessary. "Fine. Put your hat on. Keep your face down."
Sighing in relief, Noah grabbed his baseball cap and jumped out of the car, slamming the door, running into the building.
"Stay with Sam!" He called. "Sam."
The younger brother nodded. "I'll keep an eye on him and then we'll be out of here."
Settling back behind the steering wheel, Dean watched the interior of the small store, on edge.
"How long is this gonna go on for?" Cara asked.
"What?" Dean turned, not knowing what she meant.
"The Amber Alert?" It was frustrating how secretive they had to be.
Dean shrugged. "I don't know. When kids go missing, they take it pretty seriously."
Cara sighed. "Right. I just hope this time they have Nutella—"
A strange crackling filled the car. Turning, Dean watched as the dial on the radio frantically moved back and forth. Reaching for the knob, he tried to tune the radio before it finally shut off.
"No," Dean muttered, ice seeping into his veins. Reaching for his gun he wrenched open the door.
"Dad what—"
"Stay in the car! Lock the door!" Normally, Dean would've waited to make sure she did, but he didn't want to waste another second.
Bursting into the small store, a bell above the door jingled eerily. Other than that, it was quiet.
A a nearby booth, there was a man slumped over in a pile of blood.
"Sam?" Dean asked quietly and urgently, slinking through the aisles.
Turning one aisle, he found two employees, eyes wide and throat slit.
Heart rate increasing, Dean dashed to the back, where a sign pointed towards the restrooms.
"Noah!" Dean called. He kicked down the door of the single use men's bathroom.
Empty.
Turning, Dean reached for the knob and stopped.
There was a yellow powder on the handle.
Sulfur.
Demons.
"Noah! No, where are you? Sam? Sammy?" He yelled as he ran to the back door and circled around the store, screaming their names as he went.
Reaching the Impala, Dean slammed his in his head, swirling around, truly panicking.
"SAM!"
"NOAH!"
S2 Finale coming up!