Dean froze, lost for words as emotions crashed over him like waves, one after another. Shock, confusion, relief, joy, each strong enough to knock him off his feet. Somehow, he managed to stay standing in their wake.
"Dean!" Sam grinned. He stepped forward, hitting Dean with a crushing hug that Dean returned once he came to his senses.
"You have no idea how good it is to see you!" Sam said, shaking his brother.
Dean was still too shocked to be articulate.
"Yeah," he said simply, squeezing Sam tighter.
They broke apart at last. Dean had questions for Sam, but he decided to save them for later. None of them were important right now. In this moment, all that mattered was that Sam was here. He was safe. Dean's worries were laid to rest and…
Dean spotted the woman hanging back behind Sam, lingering in the shadows hesitantly. It took him a minute to recognize her. When he did, it was a second, significantly nastier shock.
"Ruby?!" he demanded. "Sam-"
"Dean, wait!" Sam cut him off. "It isn't what you think! That's not Ruby!"
"Are you sure, 'cause it sure as hell looks like her!" Dean barked, pointing at the woman. She stepped into the light with her hands up, opening her mouth to speak up for herself.
"I'm not her," she assured Dean. "She's gone."
Dean frowned as he processed what she was saying. It took a moment for the implications of her words to dawn on him.
"So you're…"
"Alice's sister," Sam supplied. "Dean, this is Allison. Allison, Dean."
"I mean… I know," Allison said awkwardly. "So does he."
"Right."
This introduction would have been uncomfortable under any circumstances. Dean scratched the back of his neck as it occurred to him that even if he didn't have her little sister's bones in a bag behind him, Allison had never known anything but hostility from Dean. Granted, she had been possessed at the time, but still…
"So. This is weird," he finally managed.
Allison shrugged.
"It is what it is," she said casually. "I mean… you know. That's life, right?"
Dean had no idea what she was talking about, but he nodded along anyway. Sam caught on to his discomfort and turned to Allison.
"You know, we could really use a minute alone," he told her.
"Yeah, sure," she said, backing away. "Of course. I'll just… I'll just be in the car."
"The car?" Dean asked, his heart skipping a beat. He looked at Sam, hopeful. Sam laughed out loud, reading his brother's mind.
"I took good care of her for you," he informed him. "Actually, Allison, can you hang out here for a second?"
"Sure, why not?" Allison said, a hint of annoyance creeping into her tone. "I'll just hang out here with the mosquitoes while you two catch up in the car."
"I mean, she can wait in the room, right Dean?" Sam asked.
"Uh… well… hm, actually…"
Dean floundered for a moment, before finally pulling himself together.
"Sure, that's fine, just… I need to grab something, real quick," he said. He dashed back into the room and grabbed the duffel bag containing Alice's remains. He held it behind his back as he exited the room, despite the fact that there was no chance he could conceal it. It was too bulky. Allison eyed it with raised brows.
"Room's all yours," Dean told her. "Sorry about the mess, I was… practicing. Um, you know. Fight moves. Gotta stay sharp, right?"
"Right," Allison said dubiously. She raised an eyebrow at Sam. "I never spent any time with him, was he this weird before he went to hell, or is this new?"
"He was pretty weird before he died," Sam confirmed playfully.
"Haha," Dean said dryly. "You guys done? It's just been, you know, like thirty years since I talked to my brother."
"Of course. My bad."
Allison disappeared into the motel, leaving the brothers alone.
"Thirty years?" Sam asked with a frown.
"Hell time," Dean explained.
"Right. About that."
Sam grew somber and Dean braced himself. He wasn't looking forward to the questions that he knew were coming.
"I don't want to talk about my time downstairs," he informed Sam firmly.
"Oh. Well good, 'cause I wasn't gonna ask," Sam lied.
"Good. 'Cause I've got nothing to say about it."
"Are you sure?"
Dean knew what he was implying. That it would feel good to share, get it all off his chest. Only someone who hadn't been through what he had been through would imply that.
"Positive," Dean affirmed. "What I do what to talk about is what you've been up to. Let's talk walking. I need to see my baby."
Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"I already know what you're gonna ask, Dean," he said. "Bobby already gave me the third degree. I'll tell you the same thing I told him, I have no idea how you got back."
"Huh. You definitely didn't sell your soul, or torture Lilith into releasing me, or…"
"No. I won't pretend that I didn't try, but nothing panned out. No demons would deal and Lilith was nowhere to be found."
"Uh-huh."
"Seriously, Dean."
"No, I believe you," Dean sighed. "I guess that means I have to start taking what the Smiths told me seriously."
"The Smiths? What did the Smiths tell you?" Sam asked.
"I don't know… they said… it was crazy, man."
"What was crazy?"
"What they told me. I woke up under a sheet in their compound and when I asked them what the hell happened, Greta Smith started talking about how I had some destiny that I didn't fulfill before I died," Dean explained. "Talking about how... It's nuts, I'm telling you."
"Ok, I get it, it's completely insane," Sam said impatiently. "Are you ever going to tell me what it was?"
"They said… they said an angel pulled me out."
Sam frowned deeply, taken aback by his brother's words.
"That's it?"
"What?"
"That's it? That's all they said? That's the explanation that you think is so crazy you can barely bring yourself to repeat it?" he asked incredulously.
"Yeah, because it's crazy," Dean stressed. "Right? Sam? I know you're with me on this one, right?"
"No!" Sam exclaimed. "Dean, there's nothing crazy about that! If anything, that's the only part of this whole thing that makes any sense at all!"
"Are you kidding me?!" Dean demanded.
"Why would I be-"
Sam cut off and let his face fall into his hands. He chuckled to himself.
"What?" Dean demanded.
"You're stupid," Sam informed him. "You are… man, you are literally an idiot."
"Am not!"
"Dean, you're a good guy!" Sam exclaimed. "Hell, you're the best man I've ever known! Anyone with eyes to see would have been able to tell you didn't belong in hell."
"Well, first of all, thanks," Dean said, genuinely tickled by Sam's praise. "Second of all, what does that have to do with anything?"
"It has to do with angels recognizing that you didn't belong in the frying pan and doing the right thing by yanking you out," Sam explained.
"That doesn't make any sense," Dean continued to argue. "Good people deal with demons all the time. What makes me different?"
"Like the Smiths told you, you must have a purpose that you didn't fulfill," Sam replied simply. "You have work left to do, and they want you to do it. People to save, things to hunt. Come on, man, the family business! Why am I the one telling you this? This is your line, Dean!"
"You're so damn gullible!" Dean chortled. "You're full of shit, you know that?"
"Why, because I have a little faith?"
"Yes. Yes, that's exactly why!"
"Whatever man. Be a hater if you want," Sam said dismissively. He pointed, directing Dean's attention to a parking space. "There she is."
Dean gasped, stopping short and forgetting his argument with Sam as he laid eyes on his Impala.
"Oh, baby," he crooned, rushing in for a closer look. "Ooh, honey… Daddy's home sweetheart!"
Sam face-palmed as Dean caressed the car, telling it sweet nothings while he inspected it.
"Should I leave you two alone for a minute?" Sam said sarcastically.
"Yes please," Dean requested, laying his forehead on the hood. It was still warm from Sam and Allison's arrival.
"Right."
Sam ignored his brother and instead leaned against the side of the car. A feeling of rightness, completeness, contentment, washed over him. All that was missing were a pair of beers. Dean felt it too. They stood in silence for a long moment, appreciating the night and the company.
"I'm glad you're back, Dean," Sam finally said. "I'm glad it's over now."
"Well… I'm glad too, but… to be honest with you, Sam, I don't think it is over," Dean sighed. "Hell's been coming after me pretty hard, and I don't think they're ever going to let up."
"Let 'em," Sam said defiantly. "Let hell throw whatever it has at us. Let them give it their best shot. I'm never letting them take you again. Ever. That's a promise."
Dean knew that logically, Sam's attitude was little more than bravado. Somehow though, that didn't matter. In that moment, he felt like he could take on the whole world and hell besides as long as Sam had his back.
"I'd drink to that if I had something to drink," Dean said with a smile.
"You don't have anything?" Sam asked in disbelief.
"Well, I mean, I did… I kind of wasted it though," Dean lamented, remembering the whiskey that was now just a stain on the motel room wall. "Which reminds me… I should probably fill you in on what the hell's been going on in my life since I got a second shot at it. How much did Bobby tell you?"
"Bobby just kept insisting that it was too complicated for him to explain and that I needed to hear it from you," Sam said with a slight frown. "I'm not gonna lie, the curiosity's been killing me."
"Tell you what. Let's make a run, grab some beers and I'll tell you all the gory details," Dean proposed.
"Sounds like a plan."
Greta Smith burst out of her front door, scowling as she surveyed the scene. She had felt the explosion that, only minutes earlier, rocked the entire compound she called home. It's source was apparent. A raging fire blazed by what was left of the front gate, partially destroyed in the blast. Greta estimated that to wreak that amount of havoc with one explosion would have taken at least a hundred pounds of explosives. Whoever had come for them, they had come prepared.
Black-clad hunters rushed to the scene from all directions, heavily armed and ready to fight whatever was attacking their home. Greta didn't join them. Instead, she dialed a number on her phone.
"Code red, perimeter breach!" she said tersely without waiting for the man on the other end to greet her. "Code red. Action 15. I repeat, action 15. Squad B only. All others assume defensive formations, action 10."
"Understood," the man replied briskly. Greta hung up the phone and re-entered her house, heading straight to a closet in the front room. She threw the doors open, revealing an impressive armory. She began pulling weapons while outside, a loudspeaker system screeched to life.
"Code red! Squad B, action 15! Squad B ONLY, action 15! All others, assume defensive formations, action 10!"
The man on the loudspeaker repeated himself over and over again, broadcasting Greta's orders throughout the compound. Outside, the activity changed. Hunters reversed direction, assuming predetermined positions instead of rushing mindlessly toward the fray. Greta pursed her lips. There were two hundred and ten Smiths living in the hub. Out of those, one hundred and seventy-three were old enough to perform action 10. Action 15 would evacuate anyone too young to fight, an age which varied from person to person, but generally speaking was ten and under. Twenty-two operatives were away on assignment, including some of Greta's best people. Squad B consisted of three individuals, who would leave with the children.
In all, Greta would face this threat with one hundred forty-eight of her family members. They all had the same training, though some lacked experience. She wanted to like their odds, but something about the situation left her with a sense of dread foreboding. Whoever was attacking them wasn't pulling any stops. The Smiths would have to be organized, swift and effective to counter this threat. Their drills should have prepared them, but Greta knew better than anyone that all too often, drills did little to prepare one for reality. Especially the reality of life or death combat.
Fully armed, Greta switched on her radio and headed up to her roof.
"Mother Duck in position," she reported once she was established atop her tin roof. She knelt, holding a rifle at the ready as she surveyed the compound. The placement of her house was no accident. At the dead center of the compound, it sat on a slight hill that was just tall enough to give her a good strategic vantage from which to issue orders. Her gaze swept out over the surrounding area, taking stock of the situation as the dust began to settle from the initial breach.
All was still. Everyone was in position and they were all holding their breath. The only movement came from the area of the front gate, where the fire roared on and buildings collapsed as they were consumed.
"Squad A in position," came the reply over the radio. One by one, everyone checked in to confirm their positions. With only a few exceptions, a squad consisted of ten individuals. Before the count could be completed, gun fire broke out from the position nearest the gate, held by Squad D. They had already checked in.
"Squad D, report," Greta said, a chill running down her spine as the gunfire continued. It intensified briefly, then came to a stop. The silence that blanketed the compound was all-consuming. "Squad D, status."
Silence. More disturbingly, Greta saw no movement from that sector. She pulled out a pair of binoculars, but the area was still and empty. No hostiles.
Then, more gunfire, this time closer. Position A was under attack. Greta turned her gaze to that sector, but saw nothing.
"Squad A, status!" Greta demanded. "Report! Tell me what the hell's happening out there!"
"They just started- Ahhh!"
The radio cut out and Greta cursed. She recognized the voice of the boy who had been unable to complete his report. Albert was fifteen and far from experienced. He was dead now. She held her breath as the gunfire continued, then once again, stopped abruptly. She waited, hoping, praying to hear from Squad A, wishing they would radio in and report that they had neutralized the threat.
Seconds turned into minutes. Minutes passed, and no one checked in.
Greta took the situation into her own hands. Geographically, one of two positions should be hit next.
"Squads C and B, look alive!" she instructed. "Something's coming your way and I want to know what the hell it is! We need to know what we're dealing with!"
Both positions copied.
Greta was only two positions out from Squad B. Part of her wanted to abandon her lookout and head their way. Her experience quashed that desire. She had to hold steady. They all did.
Greta nearly flinched when she heard Gunfire coming from position B. Still, she waited.
"Position B! We've been compromised! I repeat, we're compromised! Action 22, action-"
Squad B went radio silent abruptly, just as the shooting stopped at their position. Greta steeled her jaw. Her hand went to the array of hex bags on the belt she had donned moments earlier. Action 22 was an incredibly specific redundancy. Whatever was attacking them, it was possessing Smiths and turning them against each other. Greta's mind raced as she tried to assess the nature of the threat. Everyone here was warded against demonic possession. This was something else.
As gunshots rang out from Position C, Greta began to suspect what was happening. There weren't many things that could move like a demon without being slowed down by anti-demonic wards. She dropped her rifle, abandoned the hex bags and instead armed herself with a canister of anointed salt and an iron rod.
"Action 22, salt and iron," she announced into the radio, cold, grim and decisive, confident in her assessment. They were dealing with a ghost. She had a good idea whose. "Action 22, salt and iron. We've got a spook on the loose."
Allison practically bounced with agitation as she waited in the motel room. She toyed with the hex bag that was allowing her to control Sam Winchester. She was uncomfortable with the method. As someone who had been deprived of free will for a decade and a half, it sat wrong with her to take Sam's agency from him. She didn't do it lightly. The more she heard through Sam's ears, however, the more secure she became in her decision to slave him. As Dean regaled him with the full events of the weeks following his resurrection, Allison could tell what he was building up to.
"So... you're really gonna do it?" Sam asked incredulously. Allison was letting him exercise as much free will as she could. Everything he said, everything he felt, it was all Sam. She didn't need him quite yet and she was determined not to use him until it became absolutely necessary. "You're really gonna torch Alice's bones?"
"I have to," Dean replied glumly. His sadness was little consolation to Allison. Dean was self-destructive enough that if killing Alice would hurt him, it actually made him more likely to go through with it.
"Well, you don't have to do it alone," Sam told him comfortingly. Allison dug her nails into her palms and grit her teeth.
"No, but... I don't know, man. I think I want to be alone to do it," Dean countered.
"Why?"
"It's just..."
Dean trailed off. Allison watched through Sam's eyes as he struggled for words. Deep down though, Sam knew why Dean wanted to be alone and he could respect his brother's wishes.
"It's ok. I get it," Sam sighed. Dean wanted to be alone while he mourned Alice. "So, did you already find out where she's buried?"
"She isn't," Dean said, puzzling Sam. Dean nodded to the back seat. Sam frowned, turned and looked for himself, eyes landing on the duffel Dean had taken from his motel room. Allison's blood ran cold as she realized what it must contain.
"You mean she's-"
"Yeah."
"Why? You dug her up and... what, you've just been carrying her bones around town with you?" Sam asked, bewildered.
Allison couldn't believe Dean had literally passed her with her little sister's body in tow.
"No! She wasn't in the ground!" Dean said quickly in his defense. "The cops had her downtown in an evidence lockup, all I did was take her out! What kind of creep do you think I am anyway?"
"Sorry," Sam sighed in relief. "I gotta say, Dean, for a minute there, I was worried you left something important behind in hell."
"What, all my marbles?"
"Something like that."
"I don't think I even had all my marbles when I died," Dean joked.
Allison ignored the rest of their banter, stalking out of the motel room and stealthily making her way to the car. Dean didn't notice her until she opened the back door of the Impala.
"Hey-"
She grabbed the duffel bag, shooting Dean a dirty look.
"You've got a lot of nerve!" she accused him.
"I've got-"
Dean abandoned words, moving to open his door to come after her.
"Sam, get him!" Allison said, pointing.
"Dean, don't make this harder than it has to be!" Sam warned, grabbing his brother by the shoulders before he could pursue Allison.
"Hey- Sam, what the hell?!" Dean demanded.
"Just let her go, man!"
"Dean! Look at me!"
Dean took a break from trying to squirm out of Sam's grasp to meet Allison's gaze out his window. She held up the hex bag and nodded at Sam.
"When I'm far enough away, he'll let you get it," she said. Then she tossed the hex bag in the direction of the motel's swimming pool. Dean winced as he heard it splash into the nasty, ill-maintained waters.
"Smith! Damn it! You-"
"You boys have fun," Allison said in parting. She hopped into a brown Buick and threw it into reverse, taking off as the Winchesters continued their wrestling match.
Wow, Allison thought. That was easier than expected.
Just as she was about to pull out of the motel parking lot, someone in a silver sedan cut her off so suddenly that she almost rammed into the side of their car. Allison hit the brakes hard and pulled to the right, stopping just short of impacting the vehicle blocking her path. A woman leaped out of the silver car, leveling a gun at Allison, who ducked to avoid her first two shots. She had never seen her new adversary before in her life, but she had a good guess as to who it was. The Smith Dean had told Sam about, the one who was assigned to follow him.
So this must be cousin Kaydie, Allison thought as instincts so old that they were covered in rust creaked back to life, guiding her body through the motions of defending itself. She grabbed the duffel bag and all but fell out the passenger side of the car. More shots rang out and she realized Kaydie wasn't letting up. Quickly, Allison reviewed her options. She thrust the duffel bag under her car and pulled out her gun, returning fire long enough for her to retreat to the rear of her vehicle. If she had known she would have to fight more than one person for her sister's remains, she would have had Sam take Dean out fast. Instead, she had opted to have him deal his brother the least amount of damage out of pure compassion. As a result, the Winchesters were still dooking it out in the Impala, the hex bag controlling Sam was slowly sinking to the bottom of the grimy motel pool, and Allison was left to contend with this new adversary on her own.
More than her instincts were rusty, she realized unhappily. She'd been out of the game for too long and it had taken a toll on her powers of foresight and her ability to plan ahead.
"Call your attack dog off!" Kaydie demanded from behind her car. She knew witchcraft when she saw it, even from a distance. "Get Sam off Dean, NOW!"
"He's not hurting him!" Allison yelled back.
"Ow!"
Contradicting her, Dean and Sam took their fight outside the Impala, Dean cursing and groaning as Sam tried to restrain him.
"He's trying not to hurt him!" Allison corrected herself. "Just let me go and he'll stop!"
"Hand over the bones and you've got yourself a deal," Kaydie countered. It went contrary to her orders, but it was one thing to watch Dean destroy Kaydie's nemesis without Kaydie getting the pleasure of partaking in the act. It was another thing entirely to let some stranger waltz off with Alice's bones. For all Kaydie knew, this could be Alice herself hiding behind a new civilian face. A voice in the back of Kaydie's head told her to take the loss, let the blonde woman go, get Sam off Dean's ass and see to it that Alice got what was coming to her another day. That voice belonged to Greta. It was firm and uncompromising.
Another voice belonging to Kaydie's temper shouted over it, reminding her of the times Alice had beaten, used and humiliated her. That voice drowned out Greta's and painted Kaydie's vision blinding, enraged red.
"I can't do that," Allison replied gravely.
"I guess that makes this an impasse."
"I guess so."
Kaydie poked her head up, only to have Allison unleash a rain of bullets on her. She ducked down again, checking her clip as she considered her options.
Something impacted the ground beside her with a light thud, drawing her attention. It was a neat hex bag. She immediately felt nauseous and snatched it up with a growl, pulling out a knife to tear it open. She threw it hard, scattering its contents around the parking lot and rendering it harmless. She was dealing with a witch, alright. She knew the hex that had been thrown at her. She'd be puking up her kidneys at the moment if she didn't have broad use anti-hexes on her person. As it was, the bags effects were still highly unpleasant.
"So we're using cheap tricks here, huh?" she observed. She opened the back door of her car and fished around under her seat. Her opponent wasn't the only one who had hex bags in her arsenal.
As much as Allison preferred to use less lethal methods, it didn't seem like Kaydie was giving her much of a choice. She had counted on the witchcraft disabling her quarry, but the distraction it posed was all she needed. In the fourteen seconds it took Kaydie to disassemble the hex bag, Allison grabbed the duffel, jumped into her car and gunned it, smashing into Kaydie's car at full speed and bulldozing her way past it out of the lot. Kaydie, on her knees rifling through her back seat, took the full brunt of the impact. Her car slammed into her body, hurling her back against the pavement. Her head snapped hard against the asphalt and her world went silent, merciful darkness overtaking her, shielding her temporarily from the pain she was about to be subjected to. It wouldn't hit her til she woke up.
Allison sped away as fast as her battered car would take her, unworried about the authorities. All she cared about was putting as much distance as possible between her, the Winchesters and Kaydie.
Behind her, Sam and Dean were left in a tangled, writhing heap on the ground beside the Impala.
"Sam! Snap out of it!" Dean growled, pushing hard against his brother's hold.
"Dean, just let her go, then burn the hex bag!" Sam grunted back, managing to force Dean into a headlock.
"Oh, you are sooo lucky you're being controlled or I SWEAR I would break your ribs!" Dean panted, struggling to get Sam off him without hitting him.
"As if you could!"
"Gaahhhh!"
Dean gave a shout of effort, heaving with all his might, only to collapse back against Sam in the end.
"Damn, Sam!" he gasped, tapping his brother's arm. "Uncle, uncle!"
"No uncles, Dean, just hold still 'til she's gone!"
"She's gone!"
"Give it five more minutes!"
"Whose side are you on anyway?!"
"That's the stupidest question you've ever asked me!"
"Well?! For someone who's a witch's mindless robot, you're awfully talkative!" Dean pointed out, taking another shot at squirming out of Sam's iron grip.
"What can I say," Sam said, grunting with exertion as he flipped them both, holding Dean down with his full weight. Dean puffed as Sam squished him breathless. "If I'm being totally honest, I wasn't that psyched to hear you were killing Alice anyway."
"What?! Did you miss the part of my story where she tried to-"
"Nah, I heard the whole story!" Sam assured him, almost as breathless as Dean at this point.
"So what's the problem?!"
"Not sure! Let's destroy that hex bag and see how I feel about it afterwards!"
"You suck!"
"Yeah, well..."
With a sigh, Sam finally released Dean, patting him on the back as he sat up, leaning against the side of the Impala while he caught his breath.
"At least I'm still the strongest," he said smugly, crossing his arms over his chest.
Dean rose, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve while he scowled at Sam's self-satisfied expression.
"Strongest my ass," he sniffed. He glanced at the motel pool and immediately decided he wasn't jumping into the murky, leaf-filled, algae encrusted thing. He turned to head for the maintenance room. They ought to have everything he needed there to get the hex bag without getting wet.
"You're still as big a jerk as ever!" Sam called after him, still seated on the ground, drained after their wrestling match.
"And you're still a little bitch!" Dean shot back, too sore to be amused by their childhood gag. He barged into the maintenance closet and started going through their supplies, trying to feel angry. He should have been furious that Allison had shown up, enchanted Sam and made off with Alice's bones. Instead, he realized he was deeply relieved.
If that's not a good excuse not to get a job done, what is?
He fished the hex bag out of the pool with a scowl and a net while Sam took a siesta on the blacktop. Sirens blared in the distance, getting closer every second. It wasn't until police cars and an ambulance pulled into the motel that Dean remembered Kaydie. He squeezed the excess water out of the hex bag and held it over his lighter, struggling to ignite it with his eyes glued to the parking lot outlet. The motel manager spoke to police while EMTs carried Kaydie away on a stretcher. Dean felt a little sorry for her, but he also felt a huge burden lift from his shoulders as the ambulance carried her away.
If Kaydie got herself killed sticking her nose into his business, that was her fault. He told her over and over again that he didn't want her tailing him. Now she was going to have to deal with the consequences of ignoring his wishes.
Finally, the hex bag ignited and Dean let it drop to the ground. He frowned at how quickly it burst into flames. If he didn't know better, he might have been tempted to think that Allison had included an accelerant in its ingredients.
He walked back to the Impala and Sam rose as he approached, dusting off the seat of his pants.
"Come on, let's blow this pop stand before we get taken in as witnesses," Dean said.
"Yeah."
They got in the car, carefully navigating around police and the wreck of Kaydie's car as officers searched it. In passing, Dean saw one of the cops pull a wooden stake out from under Kaydie's back seat. They were going to have a lot of questions for her if she ever woke up.
"So, how do you feel about losing Alice's bones now?" Dean asked, glancing at Sam. He was disheveled from their brief battle, but otherwise unfazed.
"Actually... the same as I did before," Sam said, frowning a little.
"Huh. Interesting. So... you're thinking... what, we don't waste time trying to track Allison down?" Dean suggested, a hint of hopefulness infecting his tone despite his efforts to sound let down.
"I mean... do you think we'd be able to find her?" Sam asked dubiously.
"Hard to say. Maybe. Maybe not."
They drove in silence for a few minutes.
"Tell you what," Sam finally said. "Let's give it a while. Spend some time together, catch up. Forget about Alice and Allison, and see if it comes back to bite us. If it does, we'll find them. If not..."
Dean nodded quietly.
"Yeah. Let's give it a while," he agreed.
Dean really, really hoped it didn't come back to bite them.