Dean spent one night at Bobby's to recover from the long drive. He set out early the next morning, full of aches and a grogginess that no amount of caffeine could disperse.

"Saddle sore?" Bobby asked while he watched Dean waiting listlessly for the coffee pot to fill up.

"Man," Dean sighed heavily. "It's really something, Bobby. Not that long ago, a four hour drive was nothing for me. Now my ass hurts from sitting so damn long."

"You got used to domestic bliss," Bobby chuckled. "You can't expect to jump right back into the frying pan like those years never happened."

"Jump back? Bobby, the frying pan came out of nowhere and whacked my brains out," Dean rolled his eyes.

"It'll do that. So what, you're leaving without saying good-bye to Mary?"

"I talked to her about it last night. I told her I'd be gone when she woke up and back in a few days."

"Well, that's healthy."

Bobby's sarcastic tone didn't escape Dean's notice.

"It's not like I have a choice. If I don't kill this thing, it's gonna keep coming for her," he said defensively.

"Hey, I didn't say anything."

"No, but you're thinking it. I can hear you thinking it. I can hear you judging me. Stop. I'm doing what I need to do, ok?"

"Whatever you say."

Bobby's tone was still closer to passive aggressive than placating. His arms were crossed tight over his chest, features drawn into a terse frown under the brim of his ball cap. Dean frowned back at him as he poured coffee into a thermos.

"It's just a few days. I'm coming back for her."

"Yeah, unless you don't."

"I will."

"Look son, I'm not angling for a fight here," Bobby said, starting another pot of coffee behind the one Dean had just abducted. "I just want you to remember what you've got waiting for you back here. You hear me?"

"How could I forget?"

"Gee, how could a Winchester ever get so wrapped up chasing revenge that they lose sight of what's really important?" Bobby mused sarcastically, stroking his beard in mock thought as his eyes searched the room for the obvious answer to his rhetoric.

"I'm not my father," Dean reminded him, eyes narrowing as he fought the urge to snap. He knew Bobby meant well, but it was still hard not to take offense at the implication that he would ever put something as petty as vengeance above his daughter's well-being.

"You sure about that, Dean?" Bobby pried. "Because I'm getting some strong parallel vibes here. Hell, do you have any idea how many times John dumped you and Sam here to crash while he ran off chasing the demon that killed your mom? Now I've got you leaving Mary here so you can go hunt down the thing that killed Allison... what, I'm supposed to ignore the writing on the wall?!"

"Me and Allison weren't-"

"Balls, son, I don't give a damn what you want to call that relationship!" Bobby snapped, losing his temper with Dean. "She's gone and you're hurting! Whether you miss her as a friend or a sister or something more isn't important! The facts of the matter are still the same! I'm just-"

Bobby took a breath, turned away for a minute to recompose himself.

"I'm just worried about Mary," he said, voice softening under the weight of his compassion for the child. "She lost Allison too, Dean. She doesn't need payback right now. She just needs her father."

Bobby's words struck a chord with Dean. A lump rose in his throat that he forced down.

"I know, Bobby. I know."

"But you're still going."

"I don't have a choice. I know what this looks like, Bobby... I know you feel like you're seeing the same old pattern here, me, my Dad... but I'm not out to kill this thing because of a grudge. I just want to keep Mary safe. I don't want her to grow up looking over her shoulder, wondering when the next monster is gonna come for her... I have to kill this thing once and for all."

Bobby subjected Dean to a long, intense examination while the clock laughed in his face with its incessant ticking. Finally, Bobby shook his head and turned away.

"Go do what you've gotta do, Dean," Bobby sighed. "Just make sure you come back to her in one piece. You're all she has left."

"I know. She's all I have too, you know."

The holy water made Alice as sick as ever. After weeks without it, she found herself unable to keep it down. Not long after she parted ways with Dean, she found herself doubled over in an alley, spewing black onto the brick wall. She retched and gagged, mourning the loss of such a nice breakfast.

"Round and round we go," she sighed, wiping her mouth with her sleeve as she stumbled out of the alley. She walked the streets, likely looking worse for wear as she prowled for a car she could jack, compiling a mental list of supplies.

It took her the rest of the day and night, but she finally rounded up everything she wanted. She was a few weapons short, silver blades and bullets out of reach for the moment, but she had enough to get her by. She checked into a motel room and hauled her pilfered goods inside to sort them out. Weapons piled into a duffel, medical supplies into a backpack. She set aside a syringe and needle in the midst of her organizing. She needed to get everything done before she worried about her little ritual. If the incident in the alley was any indication, it would probably incapacitate her for the rest of the night.

Alice put it off as long as possible, but the needle beckoned. She kicked the duffel under the bed, set the backpack on the table and drew the curtains tighter. She checked the locks, heart racing as the usual paranoia settled over her. She hated making herself vulnerable, but she didn't feel like she had much of a choice. Especially with Allison gone. Her ritual felt like the only way she had to honor her older sister and the wishes she'd expressed so very long ago.

Alice blessed water and assembled the syringe. She filled the plunger and settled down on the bed, took a few deep breaths, steeling herself for the pain she knew was coming. She raised her eyes to the ceiling, tipping the needle skyward in tribute to her fallen sister.

"I'm still fighting the good fight, Allison," she muttered. "Just like you wanted."

Alice had no more excuses. No more reason to delay. She extended her left arm and slipped the needle into a familiar vein. She drew the plunger back, pulling a little blood that mixed with the water and turned it first bright red, then charcoal gray. She pushed the plunger back down, blessed water burning through her arm, intense enough to pull a groan of pain from Alice. The veins in her arm darkened, black spreading with the remedy as it ran its course through her system. Every inch it traveled lit her nerves up with searing agony that scorched her from the inside out. Alice tossed the needle away, clutching her arm as she sank down on the bed, paralyzed by the fire that crept through her body, arching as she screwed her eyes shut. She sank her teeth into a rag, muffling her own howls to avoid attracting attention.

Purity came at a steep price, but Alice was too afraid of the consequences to ever abandon the ritual. Whether it was helping her tainted soul or not was an open question.

All Alice could do was hope as she screamed.

The drive from Bobby's to the Smith's wiped Dean out, but he refused to give himself time to rest. Every roadside motel sign he saw called his name invitingly, but he flew past them all, resisting the urge to call it a night and seek out the colt in the morning. He reminded himself that Mary was waiting for him. Every minute he wasted was another minute she was alone. Bobby was great, but he was also right. His company was no replacement for Dean's presence.

Dean found the compound in the same place as it had been nearly eight years ago, the last time he'd found himself at the mercy of the Smiths. It seemed that every time he dealt with them, he was the one seeking help, grasping at straws in the dark. Once again, he came looking for something. The first time he'd been here felt like a lifetime ago. His search for Alice after their first separation... it had to be what, twelve years by now? Thirteen? Dean couldn't keep track.

The second time Dean found himself with the Smiths was after his resurrection. He couldn't help shuddering as he remembered waking up under a white sheet with Kaydie Smith watching like a prison guard. He'd wanted answers from the Smiths, but scorned the ones they gave him. Time had proven them right, but that didn't warm Dean to them. Between then and now, they'd been nothing but a thorn in his side, hounding his family for years while they waited for Alice to contact them. After five or six years, they retreated for the most part and Dean had assumed for a while that they'd given up. Until Mary started talking about a 'Cousin Mikey' hanging around outside her window with candy and toys, asking questions about a mother she knew nothing about.

Dean's blood boiled remembering the incident. Neither he nor Allison had ever managed to catch Cousin Mikey, but both knew it could only be Micheal Dixon-Smith, the Smiths apparent envoy of choice to the Winchesters.

Dean was filled with foreboding as he rolled up to the compound where the majority of the Smith family lived together. The wall surrounding the complex was as formidable as ever, fifteen feet high and stretching out at least a mile in both directions. He was struck, however, by a key change to the structure. Years ago, the main entrance was an imposing gate, twenty feet high and banded with silver, brass, bronze and sanctified iron. It was gone, replaced two sections of chain link fence that were half the height of the old gate. A guardhouse had been erected to the west of this new entrance, complete with a set of barrier arms. Dean drove up to them with a frown as a man stepped out of the guardhouse to meet him. He wore a grey and black uniform that evoked a real rent-a-cop feel.

'Blake. Richman Security', Dean read, mouthing the words as his suspicions were confirmed. The Smiths had outsourced security. Strange move for such a cloistered, self-sufficient bunch.

"Good evening," the guard greeted him. "How can I help you?"

"Evening," Dean replied. I'm looking for the Smith family. They still here?"

"Sure are. State your name and business for me, I'll see about phoning you in."

"Sure. Dean Winchester. I need to talk to Kaydie Smith."

"Ah. Winchester, huh? You know, I think you're actually on the shortlist. Gimme a minute."

The guard reentered his little outpost and flipped through a clipboard. He nodded to himself, hit a button and flashed Dean a thumbs up. The arms raised and the gate rolled open. Dean pulled forward, apprehension fluttering through him. He glanced back to see the guard talking on the phone.

The first thing that struck Dean was how empty the place seemed. The last two times he'd been here it had bustled with activity, Smiths coming and going all around in a crowd almost thick enough to make navigating the compound tricky. Now, all Dean saw were empty avenues cutting clear across the grounds to the back wall. He parked on the side of the deserted courtyard and wondered what the hell he was supposed to do next. He flipped his phone open and scrolled through his contacts, despite remembering with terrible specificity that he'd deleted Kaydie's number a long time ago.

Lacking a better option, Dean got out of his car and waited. The whole place was quiet, so much so that he could still hear the sounds of the freeway through the trees that hid the Smith's home from view of the travelers who came and went all day up and down I40.

After only a few minutes, Dean spotted a woman approaching. All black clothes, blonde hair pulled up in a tight bun, gun holstered at her waist. From a distance, Dean thought it was Kaydie, but as he walked forward to meet her, he realized this was someone new.

"Dean Winchester?" she called, closing the distance between them.

"The one and only. And you are?"

"Caroline Smith. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

She extended her hand and he took it, accepting her firm shake while she flashed him a glossy smile that fully reached her green eyes, framed with dazzling, bold gold liner. She gave off a genuine, friendly, confident vibe. Dean wanted to like Caroline, but his past experience with Smiths tempered his desire, held it well in check.

"Ditto. Kaydie Smith around?"

"Not at the moment, but any business you have with Kaydie, I can take care of for you," Caroline assured him. "What brings you here?"

"Well-"

"You know what, I'm sorry," Caroline cut him off. "I feel rude, can I offer you some coffee? Or maybe tea? Please excuse my thoughtlessness, it's just... we don't get a lot of visitors these days."

"Uh... I'm good, thanks," Dean said. "You're fine. I, uh... well, let's just say this isn't exactly a social call. I'm looking for something."

"Ok. Something like...?"

"A gun. A revolver, more specifically. It'd be an antique, a little over a hundred years old. If my info's good, your family would have gotten their hands on it around... seven, eight years ago? Would have been in or around Minneapolis."

"Pretty specific," Caroline said with a raised eyebrow. "What is it, some kind of family heirloom you misplaced?"

"Something like that."

"Ok. Well, if we have it, it's a good bet it'll be in the armory. Can you pick it out of a lineup?"

"Definitely. It's distinctive."

"Ok. If you just wanna follow me, I can take you."

Caroline led Dean through the deserted streets and Dean took the opportunity to sate his curiosity.

"It's... It's so quiet here now," he said. "Last time I was here you couldn't kick a rock without hitting a Smith. Where is everybody?"

"Must have been a long time since you were here," Caroline scoffed. "It's, uh... it's been a rough few years, I guess."

"What happened?"

"Family drama, mostly. I don't know... you know Kaydie, did you know Greta?"

"I met her a few times."

"Well after she died, Kaydie was too obsessed with finding the thing that killed her to take her place leading the family like she was supposed to. There was an ugly power struggle. There still is, I guess, but... you know, it's not important."

"So what, you're the head honcho around here these days?" Dean asked skeptically. He had a hard time believing such a mild-mannered, diplomatic Smith would have emerged victorious from a coup.

"No! God, no. I'm just the welcome committee for today," Caroline explained. "No, Kaydie's still in charge around here. When she's here, that is."

Caroline bit her lip and held her tongue and Dean got the feeling that she'd said more than she was supposed to. He still had more questions, but he didn't have the heart to keep grilling the kid either.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Dean said as comfortingly as he could. "I mean, I wasn't exactly your family's the biggest fan, but still... that's rough."

"Yeah, well... we always were a little too complicated for our own good," Caroline said with a small, wry chuckle. She opened a door for Dean, waving him in ahead of her. Dean hesitated, eyeing the pitch black room suspiciously. Caroline caught his reluctance and nodded sharply.

"Right. Got it."

She stepped in ahead of him and hit the lights, beckoning him to follow her.

"I take it when you say you weren't a fan of my family, what you really mean is you trust Smiths as far as you can throw them," she commented as he joined her.

"Well, to be fair, they... whoa."

Dean trailed off, lost for words as he looked around the room. Walls line with swords and knives in every style he'd ever imagine, racks full of firearms, drawers and chests labeled 'explosive'...

Dean had seen hell. Now, he felt like he'd walked into heaven.

"She's a beaut, huh?" Caroline said, reading Dean's appreciation of the collection.

"I'll say."

"Half this stuff was forged here. We're not called Smiths for nothing."

She pointed to the east wall.

"I've got a few of my own pieces over there."

"You don't say."

"Personally? I'm more of a gun gal, but it's required training to master blades. Anyway, you said you're looking for an antique?"

"Yeah."

"Most of those are in the back."

She led him through a maze of shelves toward the back of the building. Dean had a hard time tearing his eyes away from the smorgasbord of deadly implements surrounding him. He thought he had a pretty nice little collection of gear, but it was a drop in the bucket compared to the stash the Smiths were sitting on.

"Just ahead," she told him, pointing to a collection of locked glass display cases. "I have to make a call, but, uh... take a gander, and if you see the one you're looking for, I'll open the case for you when I get back, ok?"

"Sure."

She left Dean to his own devices, and he took his time perusing the collection. Some of the pieces on display dated back to ancient Greece. Dean looked over an assortment of ritual daggers that made him think of Alice. It was too bad she was on the outs with her family. Dean couldn't help thinking that she would love this place, maybe even more than he did.

Dean tore himself away from the blade collection and wandered over to the cases containing the firearms. He bent down to examine them closely, heart sinking as he searched for Samuel Colt's gun. He squinted at a colt that could have been the one he was looking for. It looked like it belonged to the right time period. Dean even suspected it might be another of Samuel Colt's pieces, but it was missing the telltale latin inscription etched into the barrel of the colt Dean was looking for.

Dean moved through three display cases before he finally found what he was looking for, heart leaping as he set eyes on the gun he was looking for.

"Hello, sweetheart," he greeted it, smiling excitedly. He could hardly dare to believe it. Was he really going to leave here with the weapon he needed to kill the son of a bitch threatening his family?

"Ouch!"

Dean stiffened, wincing at a small, sharp pain in the back of his neck. His hand flew up, meeting something... fluffy?

Dean grasped it and pulled, bringing it around to examine while his vision blurred. A red dart. He spun around, and when he stopped, the world kept on spinning around him. He almost fell over, but grabbed the display case just in time to stay on his feet. Feet he realized he couldn't feel anymore.

"What the..."

Caroline stood behind him, loading another dart into the tranquilizer gun she held. She raised it again but hesitated, waiting to see if the first shot would be enough to drop Dean. Dean scowled and took a staggering step forward.

"You... damn... damn it."

He fell to the floor, pointing a weak, accusatory finger at Caroline.

"Damn... Smiths."

"Sorry," she sighed. "Orders. You know how it is."

Dean's last thought before he passed out was how very, incredibly much he hated the entire Smith family.

"Ugh."

Dean woke with a groan and a headache. The first thing he saw was the man seated in front of him. As his vision came into focus, he fixed the man with a glare.

"Heya, Worcestershire," Micheal Dixon-Smith greeted him with a goofy smile. Caroline stood, statuesque by the door of the bare, dimly lit room. After a moment, Dean realized he knew where they were. All the furniture had been removed and the windows were boarded up, but Dean recognized Greta Smith's living room.

"Well I'll be. Cousin Mikey. In the flesh," Dean scowled dryly. He didn't need to look down to know he was tied into the chair he sat in. He rolled his wrists in place, rope chafing against his skin.

"Been a while since we had a chat, I know."

"This is a chat?"

"Sure. For now, anyway. What do you say we keep it pleasant?"

"Wow, if this is your idea of a 'pleasant chat' I'd hate to-"

"Let's skip the foreplay, huh? I know Alice sent you here," Micheal interrupted him.

"I haven't seen Alice in a long time."

"Lie," Micheal said, pointing at Dean with an irked little grimace. "I don't know if Allison told you this about me, but you won't be able to get a lie past me. So make this easy on both of us and just tell me where she is."

"I have no idea where Alice is."

Micheal pursed his lips at Dean's statement. It was the truth, and whatever supernatural gifts lurked behind the incandescent, unnaturally bright green of his eyes must have informed him of that. Still, he was far from satisfied. He pulled a phone out of his pocket that Dean recognized.

"That's mine," he scowled.

"Let's run this back a little," Micheal said, presenting Dean with his phone's lock screen. "I know you've been in contact with her, one way or another. I mean, come on. The gun you came here looking for? You had to have known that was too damn specific. Alice is the only person on the planet who knows we have that gun. No one else could have told you where to find it. So... let's say you really don't know where she is. Fine. But I'd bet my life you've got her number in here. Dontcha, Dean-O?"

Dean held his poker face and refused to meet Micheal's eyes. Creepy eyes, they reminded him of Alice's before she lost her Trickster's Touch. Micheal sighed.

"Come on, Dean. You don't wanna put your neck on the chopping block for Alice. I know all about everything that went down between you two. I think we both know that if your places were reversed, she'd sell you out faster than you can say 'snitch'. So just make this easy for both of us. Put your code in here, give her a call. Set her up, we'll knock her down... it's the right thing to do."

Micheal scrutinized Dean closely, watching for any sign that his words were getting to him. Dean remained stoic.

"Even if you've put the wrong she did you behind you, don't forget that she's still dangerous. She's still-"

"Cut the crap, Mike," Dean sighed, rolling his eyes. Micheal wasn't a skilled interrogator and it showed. The Smiths picked the wrong guy for this job. Dean was the farthest thing from intimidated. "This family drama you've got going on? It was old seven years ago. It's time to let it go."

"Family drama?" Micheal mused. "You have no idea what you're talking about, Winchester. You have no idea what Alice did to us."

"Yeah, well, I also have no doubt that whatever it was, you jerks deserved it."

Micheal stood so fast his chair toppled over behind him with a crash. By the door, Caroline flinched minutely.

"I mean, Alice is a dick," Dean went on, unfazed. "But let's be honest here, it definitely runs in the family."

"Just give me the code and make the call, Dean," Micheal said, eyes narrowed to slits and teeth gritted with barely restrained rage that only served to egg Dean on.

"No. This has nothing to do with me. It's your family business, not mine. So how about you untie me before I get pissed and make it my business? 'Cause trust me, you don't want me to make this feud my business. You're not gonna like where I come down on the matter and you're not gonna like what I do about it."

"You're gonna do something about it?" Micheal scoffed, eyeing Dean's restraints. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Ok. Excuse me if I'm not quaking in my boots," Micheal sneered, circling around to stand behind Dean. "I'm only gonna ask one more time, Winchester. Open the damn phone."

"No."

Dean felt the cold kiss of a knife's edge against the side of his neck. It was sudden enough to startle him into jumping a little and he winced as the razor sharp blade drew a fine line of blood.

"Don't make me get ugly with you, Winchester," Micheal hissed. "Make the call."

Dean laughed out loud at him, the sound bouncing off the walls, loud and unhinged.

"Boy, you really are an amateur," Dean chortled, one octave down from all-out giggling. "Hell couldn't break me in thirty years, Smith. You think you're gonna be able to? Go on, give it your best shot. This should be fun."

At the door, Caroline put her head in her hands and shook it slowly.

"Dixon, I think we need to get Kaydie back here," she said.

"No! I can handle this!"

"Like I said, hit me with your best shot," Dean said, settling back in his chair. Caroline had never seen anyone look so comfortable bound hand and foot.

"You're bluffing. You're not seriously gonna sit here and take a beating for Alice's sake."

"I'll tell you what I'm not gonna do; I'm not gonna be the guy that sells his friends out to save his own sorry ass. So bring it."

"And your principles are more important to you than your hide?"

"See for yourself."

Micheal came down to Dean's level to hold his gaze. Dean didn't look away, let Micheal see the unwavering truth in what he said next.

"You couldn't break me if you had a hundred years to try, Smith. So either get on with it, or untie me. End this now, and I won't slaughter all of you assholes on my way out. I'll just break a few of your fingers for wasting my time."

"Dixon, I'm about to start rooting for this guy," Caroline chuckled. "You gonna call Kaydie, or you want me to do it?"

"Caroline, shut up or leave!" Micheal stormed.

"Dixon-"

"I SAID SHUT UP!"

"Come on now, Mikey, cut the good cop a break," Dean snarked. "Even for a bad cop, you're taking the routine a little far."

"Ok, smartass," Micheal sneered. "Mr. Doesn't Break Easy."

He sheathed his knife and turned Dean's phone back on. He stared at the screen for a minute, then smirked and presented it to Dean again.

"So you've been to hell and back. Good for you! What about her?"

Mary's face beamed at Dean from his lock screen, filling him with dread as he realized what Micheal was getting at. It must have shown in his face, because Micheal went on, emboldened.

"I'm guessing she's not as tough as her Daddy, huh?"

Dean fixed Micheal with a glare that could have shriveled new daisies.

"I'm gonna kill you just for saying that, you dumb, spineless sack of crap!" Dean growled.

"Promises, promises. Think you can get it done before I find sweet little Mary?"

Micheal held Dean's death glare, unfazed. Maybe he didn't take Dean's promise seriously, but Dean wasn't making idle threats. Micheal may not have realized it, but he'd signed his death warrant the minute he brought Mary into this.

"You don't have the stomach for it," Dean scowled. He was grasping at straws at this point. To his dismay, Micheal doubled down.

"Alice destroyed my family, Winchester. Believe me, I've got the stomach to do whatever it takes to see that hell spawn dead. So what's it gonna be? Are you gonna make a call? Or do I need to go looking for your little girl?"

Dean breathed his fury in and out a few times, cornered. He didn't have a choice anymore. There was no contest between his principles and his daughter. He couldn't risk letting her suffer for the sake of something as petty as his pride.

"Zero. One. Two. Four," Dean spat through his teeth.

Micheal tried the code and smiled while Dean cursed the bastard. He seriously considered Torxing him on the spot, but decided to hide his hand and bide his time. As bad as he wanted to hurt Micheal Dixon-Smith, now wasn't the right time.

"See. That wasn't so hard."

Micheal found the number and hit the call button.

"The hunt is on," he smiled.

Dean couldn't wait to carve that smug smile off his face.

Recommended Context:Three Deaths, Chapter 15: The Good Fight