Hello, my lovelies. I'm back! I had a great vacation; I pet a zebra, finished a few more chapters. Gabriel's tomorrow :)

And a happy birthday to Jared! (and a half birthday to Alex)

...

...

"Might've found us a case." Sam's voice roused Alex from her sleep. She rolled over to find the bed next to her empty.

"Let me see."

Alex sat up to see both Winchesters sitting at the table. "Yeah, in southern Colorado." Sam spun his laptop so his brother could see. "Sounds like our kinda thing, right?"

Dean was silent for a few seconds, eyes flickering across the screen. "Yeah," he finally agreed. "That's weird."

"What?" Alex finally, and reluctantly, threw back the covers and got up, wincing at the cold floor. She hurried over to the Winchesters.

"Bobby gave us a case. A twenty-five year old male was found dead by his wife." Sam pulled his laptop back to him. "The cause of death? Old age."

A surprised noise escaped from the back of Alex's throat. "Old age?" she repeated. "Yeah, that sounds weird." She tried to stifle a yawn.

Sam noticed. "Go back to bed," he suggested. "It's been a long night." When Alex hesitated, he added, "We'll leave in the morning."

Alex nodded. "Okay. Thanks." Alex walked back over to the bed.

"Yup." Sam and Dean turned back to their conversation, talking in hushed voices.

...

She was being lifted. Alex cracked open her eyes, confused. "Wha . . ?"

"You're up." Sam looked down at her. "We thought you'd never wake up."

"Coulda tried something else." Alex leaned her head against Sam's upper arm, stifling a yawn. "Don't need to carry my like a baby."

"You are a baby," Sam teased. He let her down. "Your stuff's packed. Dean's checking us out."

"K." Alex grabbed her bag off of the floor and stumbled towards the door. Sam reached out to steady her as she almost tripped over a pillow. She gently brushed him off, rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, and made her way out to the Impala.

...

January 12th, 2010

Trinidad, Colorado

It was an eight and a half hour drive down to their destination, including the brief stop for some sort of brunch. Alex was dropped off at the nearest motel, which happened to suck. Alex reluctantly sat down on the bed, desperately trying not to think of where those spots on the sheets came from. She flipped on the tv. Basic cable. She settled with watching the Simpsons.

...

Half an hour later her phone rang. Alex eagerly answered it. "Sam! Hey."

"Uh, hey. How's it going?"

"Good, good." Alex looked around. "This motel sucks."

"Sorry."

"What'd you find?"

"Well, we're going to talk to Mrs. Whitlow. She's, uh, she's the wife of one of the missing people in this town."

Alex frowned. "You think they're connected? A twenty year old grandpa and a couple of missing guys?"

"Bobby seems to think so."

Alex smiled at the mention of the hunter. "Well, he's usually right. Carry on."

Sam hung up, and Alex tossed her phone onto the bed.

...

Sam came back two hours later. Alex voiced her greeting, and he grunted in response, grabbing his back pack and dropping it on his bed. Alex sat up, looking up at him "You were gone a long time."

"Yeah. Like I said, we talked to the wife of one of the missing men. Cliff Whitlow, eighty five years old. Went missing one week ago."

"Okay. And?"

"Dean found receipts for Madame Liu's Golden Palace. That's that motel on the other side of town. Same room every Tuesday, like clockwork."

Alex tipped her head. "Today's Tuesday."

"Yeah, well, we went down to check it out."

"And?" Alex leaned forward, interested in where this was going.

"Well, we walked in the room, and," Sam ducked his head, embarrassed, "there was this guy, and, um, two girls. In bed. Anyways, the guy looked to be about thirty five, but he had the same tattoo as Cliff. Turns out he is Cliff Whitlow."

"What? So, it's like the opposite of what happened to the dead guy."

"Pretty much." Sam grabbed a jacket out of his bag. "He said some interesting things when we asked him about it. Said he won those years in a poker game."

"A poker game," Alex repeated. "So, what? You play for years instead of money?"

"That's exactly what he said." Sam looked over at the girl. "Why? Does this sound familiar?"

"No, not really. Sorry." Seeing Sam's face, she lowered her head. "I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"It's not your fault."

"I know about the apocalypse," Alex insisted. "I know a lot about it! It's just . . . nothing's happened yet. A-And I don't know when it's going to happen! Six months, a year, two years -"

"I said it's not your fault," Sam cut her off gently. "We'll be fine." He pulled on his jacket. "Well, we're looking for this Patrick guy in all of the bars. It'll be a while before we're back." He paused, then reached into his back pocket and pulled out his cash, held together by his money clip. He dropped thirty dollars on the table. "Go get some dinner at some point. Call if you need anything."

Alex smiled. "Thanks, Sam."

He grunted, and he left. Alex turned back to the tv.

...

Sam left her enough money that Alex was contentedly full by the time she returned to the motel. She dropped the change on the table and lay down on the bed, reaching for Dean's computer. She lost herself in the internet.

...

"Holy fuck!" Alex jumped to her feet, eyes wide.

"Language!" Dean stepped through the door. Or, at least she thought it was Dean.

Alex ran over to him, concerned. "Dude! What happened? You look old!"

"Dean's an idiot."

Alex turned at the new voice. "Bobby?" She grinned, which quickly faded. "Uh, how did you get down here?"

The old hunter wheeled his way into the motel, looking around. Dean disappeared towards the bathroom, grumbling all the way.

Alex closed the door behind him, following him in. "I mean, I'm happy you're here, but you're in a chair. How-"

"I drove. How do you think?"

"You drove?" Alex's eyes flashed. "You can't move your feet, Bobby!"

"Craig helped me rig a few of my cars," Bobby snapped back. "People do do that, you know."

Alex fell silent. "What happened to Dean?" she finally asked.

"He lost fifty years." Bobby pulled out a beer. "He's an idiot."

"He bet his years?" Alex tipped her head. "Like actually? Why would he do that?" When Bobby didn't answer, her voice grew sharp. "Bobby? What did you do?"

"I tried to get my damn legs back." The hunter slammed the fridge door, and it shook with the force. "I tried to talk him out of it. I'm the better poker player, dammit. He didn't stand a chance." He rolled over to her. "How are you doing? They treating you good?"

Alex ignored him. "You tried to what? Bobby, come on." She shifted so she was facing him. "Don't do this to yourself."

"Do what?" Bobby wheeled away, signaling the conversation was over. He disappeared out the door.

"This isn't over, dammit." Alex crossed her arms. "I can outrun you! Bobby!" She was ignored and with a huff, she turned away.

...

The door opened. Sam stepped through. He was carrying a cardboard tray that had two sodas and burgers. He dropped them on the table with a nod. "I assume you already ate." When Alex nodded, he looked around. "Dean? You find anything?"

"Uh, you might say." The bathroom door opened and an old man stepped out. Alex jumped, eyes wide to see that he had aged even more. White hair, some wrinkles, dude had to be around eighty years old.

Sam let out a startled noise and whipped out his gun. "Who the hell are you?"

"Dude, relax. It's me." Dean was wearing the motel's crappy black bathrobe. He held out his hands non-threateningly.

Sam lowered his gun. "Dean?"

"Hi."

"What the hell happened?"

"I, you know . . . found the game." Dean walked over to the table and picked up his burger.

"You f - I thought you said you were g-good at poker."

"I am. Shut up. So, you were just going to shoot some old guy? Is that it?"

Alex pulled her legs up onto the bed. He even sounded weird. His voice was a lot deeper. But he still looked strong. Healthy. At least he didn't look like he was going to keel over dead that minute.

"I didn't know what you were," Sam admitted. "I mean, have you seen you? You look like -"

"The old chick in Titanic," Dean finished through a mouthful of food. "I know. Shut up."

"I was gonna say Emperor Palpatine."

Alex grinned. "I can see that."

Dean glared at both of them, but was saved from responding when the door opened. Bobby rolled through, glancing up at Sam. The door swung closed. "I see you met John McCain there."

"Yeah. Either of you want to tell me what happened?"

"Bobby's an idiot," old Dean snapped. "That's what happened."

"Hey, nobody asked you to play."

"Right, I should have just let you die."

"And for damn sure nobody asked you to lose!"

Sam grinned, looking back at Alex. She was smiling in amusement as well. "It's like Grumpy Old Men," he joked. Alex laughed.

Bobby and Dean turned in unison to glare at them. "Shut up, Sam."

Dean looked back down at Bobby. "What the hell were you thinking? He's a witch. He's been playing poker since guys wore tights."

"You just don't get it."

"Yeah, I get it, Bobby. You saw a chance to turn the hands of the clock back and get out of that damn chair. Pretty tempting. I can imagine."

"No you can't."

"You got me. I've never been paralyzed." Dean took another bite of his burger. "But I'll tell you something. I've been to hell, and there's an archangel there wanting me to drop the soap. Look at me! My junk's rustier than yours! You hear me bellyaching? Huh?"

"Uh, actually, yeah," Sam agreed.

"This is pretty dramatic," Alex added.

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but instead he exclaimed, "Oh!" He sat down at the table. "I'm having a heart attack."

Alex looked over at him, worried. However, Bobby snorted. "No, you're not."

"What is it?"

"Acid reflux. Guys your age can't digest certain foods. You're gonna need to put down that cheeseburger."

Dean let out a heavy sigh, but dropped the food onto the table.

"So, you want to keep emoting, or do you want to solve this little issue of yours? It's got to be about the chips."

Dean nodded. "I slid 'em across, Patrick did his little witchy number, and you prettied up in a hurry."

"I mean, what are you all thinking? Some kind of magic chips or something?"

"Definitely." Bobby wheeled closer to the table, and Sam sat down.

"Could be a pagan god," Alex suggested. "Maybe one that controls people's years? Father Time?"

Bobby grunted. "More likely to be a witch. Besides, Father Time ain't real."

"Do you remember what he chanted?" Dean asked.

"Yep. Every word."

"All right, then let's find out where he stashes his chips." Sam stood up.

"And steal me fifty. Benjamin Button me back into burger shape. What do you think?"

"I think you out to put some clothes on," Bobby quipped scathingly.

Dean glared at him, but stood up and disappeared into the bathroom. Alex watched Sam dig through his bag. "Am I coming?" she asked quietly.

"Don't see why not." Bobby wheeled over to her. "You and Sam are the only ones in shape."

"I heard that!" they heard Dean yell.

Alex chuckled quietly. "I'll get my jacket."

Dean came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, dressed in his normal clothes. Amazingly, they still fit. There was a knock on the door, and Dean crossed the room to answer it. It was a young woman. She held an armful of towels, and Alex saw a cart behind her. "Ready for housekeeping, sir?" the maid asked.

"Born ready," Dean responded, and Alex knew he was grinning.

The maid let out a cute laugh. "You're just like my grandfather. He hits on anything that moves too." She pushed her way past Dean and into the room.

Dean turned, grin fading.

"You're adorable," the maid added as she went towards the bathroom.

"And dangerous," Dean added quickly.

"Aww." The maid disappeared with a laugh.

Sam smirked. Alex laughed. "Aww, look at you. You are adorable," she told Dean, jumping off the bed.

"Can we just go?"

...

They made their way out to the parking lot. Bobby wheeled to a stop next to a large black van, and Alex stopped as she recognized the car. "No. There is no way in hell that you're driving."

"What's wrong with my driving?" Bobby opened the van door. With a grunt, he pulled himself up into the seat with his forearms.

Sam wordlessly folded the wheelchair and stuck it in the back of the van.

"Alright." Bobby looked down at the two Winchesters. "You two up front. Alex, get in the back."

Alex climbed into the open back of the van. "This sound safe," she muttered, looking into the front seat. Bobby released the emergency brake, and pulled the car out of the parking lot.

...

They didn't die. Bobby had installed two sticks that allowed him to control both the brakes and the acceleration with ease. He pulled the van up beside a bar, and there they waited in the empty street.

"There." Dean pointed off to his left. Alex perked up. Her eyes came to rest on a man. Sleek black hair, clean suit coat over a white button down, which was open enough to show just a bit of chest. He moved smoothly and confidently out onto the sidewalk. He looked down at his watch as he stepped out on to the street.

The screeching of a car reached Alex's ears, and a sleek black convertible slammed into the man, who was flung to the ground. Alex watched with wide eyes as the driver got out, checking the man hurriedly for injuries. Then he hurried across the street to a construction worker, yelling for help.

A large grin crossed Alex's face as the the man got to his feet. He slid into the driver's seat of the nice convertible, driving off down the road.

Dean let out a loud laugh. "I got to say, I kind of like that guy."

"He's good," Alex admitted. The van jerked slightly as Bobby took off after him.

...

Fifteen minutes later, Bobby parked the van in front of a large skyscraper. They watched as the man - Patrick, Alex remembered his name - got out of the car a disappeared into the building. Alex looked up. Statesborough Apartments. She moved towards the door, but a hand on her wrist stopped her. "What?"

"We have to wait for him to leave, dumbass."

"He just got here!"

"And we'll wait for him to leave again."

With a grumbled obscenity, Alex settled down in the back of the van.

...

They waited there until four thirty in the morning, each one taking turns watching while the others caught a few hours rest. The back of the van opening woke Alex from her slumber. "Is he gone?" she slurred through the sleep.

"Yeah. Come on." Bobby waited for Sam to pull his wheelchair out of the back of the van before he got out, situating himself. He wheeled off after Dean, leaving Sam and Alex to follow. They hurried into the lobby, where Bobby wheeled to a stop. "Well, I'm out."

On the elevator door was a sign that read, "ELEVATOR OUT OF ORDER. SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE."

Sam looked down at the hunter with a sigh. Then he moved towards the stairwell.

Alex hesitated. "Do you want me to stay?" she asked Bobby.

"I'm paralyzed, not incompetent."

"Alright, alright." Alex hurried after the Winchesters. She quickly overtook Dean; he was only about ten steps up. She followed Sam.

...

Sam led the way up at least a thousand flights of stairs, and then finally stopped by room 3701. Alex leaned against the wall, breathing heavy from the physical exertion. She glanced back down the hall from which they had come. "Is Dean gonna make it?" she panted out.

"We'll see." Sam pulled out his lock-picking kit and dropped to one knee.

"How do we know this is the right room?" The girl slid down the wall to the ground. "There's thousands of rooms."

In response, Sam pulled something out of his pocket and dropped in on the ground beside him.

Alex crawled over, leaning against the other wall. She glanced at the slip of paper, then up at Sam to see his face still deep in concentration. "Oh."

"Mm-hmm."

A heavy wheezing came from down the hall, and Alex looked up to see Dean. "Look who made it!"

"Shut up." Dean walked over to them, sweat glistening on his forehead.

The locked clicked open, and Sam pushed the door open. All three crept in. Dean and Sam glanced at each other, nodded, then split up, Sam disappearing through a door. Dean began searching the living room.

Alex watched, unsure. "Can I help?"

"Go see what's in that way." Dean pointed off to his left. Alex nodded and did as he said. She pushed open the oak door and stepped into what appeared to be the bedroom. She took a quick look around before moving towards a bed.

A woman stepped out of the bathroom, and they locked eyes. Alex opened her mouth to yell out a warning, but a hand came down over her mouth.

"Now now, there's no need for that," a thick Irish accent whispered in her ear. "Let's go find your friends, shall we?" A hand trailed down her back, and Alex struggled as fingers locked around the handle of her gun.

The woman stepped past them out of the room, and Alex and the man - Alex assumed he was the Patrick they had been following - trailed behind, dropping her gun on the bed.

"It's like Mission: Pathetic," she heard Sam say. She looked over at the Winchesters to see them standing in front of the armoire. Dean was studying a safe, eyes squinted. As she watched, Sam knocked his brother out of the way. In five seconds he had the safe open and reached inside.

"I could have done that," Dean muttered grumpily as Sam pulled out a handful of poker chips.

Alex wanted to warn them, but she knew yelling would be pointless. Thinking quickly, she lifted one foot in the air and stomped hard.

Both Winchesters spun around.

"What are you doing?" the woman asked angrily.

Dean studied her. "Aren't you that chick from the bar?"

"I'm a lot more than that." The woman raised a fist, clenched it, then twisted her wrist. Dean immediately doubled over in pain.

Patrick let go of Alex and placed a hand on he woman's shoulder. "It's alright, sweetheart. It's alright. They're harmless." When the woman didn't let go of her grip on Dean, he added her name. "Lia."

Lia dropped her fist, releasing the Winchester. In that brief moment of distraction, Alex hurried across the room, sliding to a stop next to Sam.

Patrick stepped forward. "You want chips?" he asked, studying the opened safe. "Take 'em. They're just chips, Einsteins. It's showmanship. This may come as a shock, but the magic does not lie in a pile of crappy plywood or in any phony abracadabra. It's the nine hundred year old witch. You guys want years? Score 'em the old-fashioned way. Texas hold 'em." He pulled a toothpick out of his pocket and stuck it in his mouth, chewing on it mindlessly.

"Fine." Dean squared his shoulders. "Let's do it."

The witch pulled a card out of his pocket: an eight of hearts. "What card am I holding up?"

When Dean didn't answer, Alex looked up to see his eyes narrowed in a squint, and she realized that he couldn't see.

"That's what I thought." Patrick shoved the card back into his pocket. "If your eyesight's that bad, what about your memory? I'm not a murderer. You, on the other hand . . ." The witch studied Sam. "I'll play him." When Alex opened her mouth, he cut her off. "Not her. That'd be against the rules."

Dean followed his gaze. "Against the rules?" he repeated. "What? You don't play with kids?"

"I'm almost nineteen, dammit!" Alex snapped.

"Dean." Sam got his brother's attention.

"No, Sam."

"What, Sam not much of a player? Okay, well, happy trails, Dean. Enjoy the twilight of your life. Should have taken better care of that ticker, though." Patrick walked over to the front door and opened it. "You're free to go."

Dean hurried out the door, frowning all the way. Alex and Sam followed.

"Oh, but Sam . . ."

Sam and Dean stopped, turning back.

"You're brother's situation," the witch continued, "that's punishment enough, but I can't let you leave without a small parting gif." He clapped his hands three times.

Sam looked over at Dean, confused. "What are you doing?"

"You'll find out soon enough." He turned his gaze to Alex. "You cross my path again, and you're next."

Dean nudged her towards the stairs. "Let's get out of here."

Alex hurriedly nodded, following the Winchesters down the stairs.

...

Sam pushed his way out the front door, Alex close behind. The taller man paused, scratching at his thigh. Dean exited the building, watching his brother as he scratched again. Then Dean grinned. "Dude. I think the he-witch gave you the clap."

Sam stiffened for a second, then marched off, leaving Dean chuckling. Alex ran off to the van.

...

By the time they got back to their motel, the sun was already up. Bobby parked the car in the lower parking lot, and all four got out. "So you didn't find anything?" the older hunter asked, discouraged.

"Yeah. Those chips are apparently just chips." Sam started walking towards the motel. The path took them under a concrete bridge and up a small incline to the motel. The Winchesters and Alex made it up fine, but a curse from behind had them turning.

"Little help here?" Bobby was stuck, unable to roll his wheelchair up.

Sam and Dean walked over. Sam got there first and pushed Bobby up the rest of the way. Dean walked alongside.

"You know, maybe I should play," Sam said as they reached the top. Bobby took over rolling, and Alex took the spot on the old hunter's flank.

"No no no." Bobby and Alex turned to see that Dean had stopped. Sam turned around as well, confused. "You're not good enough," Dean insisted. "I'm better. Bobby's way better. We both lost."

"Exactly," Bobby agreed, no more happy about it than Dean was.

"So, what? I don't get a say in this anymore?"

"Sammy, when you get to be our age -"

"You're thirty, Dean!" Sam ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

Before Sam could add on, Alex spoke up. "Then I'll play, dammit-"

"No!" All three turned on her before she could even finish.

"You don't even know poker," Bobby added angrily.

"So? I'm the youngest." Alex crossed her arms. "Just hear me out, okay? I take out fifty years, give half to Dean. Yeah, I'll lose the other twenty five, but at least that doesn't put me at eighty like the rest of you!"

The three hunters exchanged glances.

"Look, I've watched you hustle plenty of poker -" Sam started,

"Knowing the game's not enough, Sam," Bobby snapped, and Alex frowned as she realized they never even considered her suggestion. "It's not about playing the cards."

"It's about playing the other guy," Sam finished. "I know that."

"Well hooray for you. All I'm saying is, I played this guy. I know his style. I can take him."

Dena's eyes flashed. "No Bobby. You don't have years in the bank."

"I got enough."

"No. You'll die if you lose, Bobby."

The hunter glared up at Sam. "So what if I do, huh? What exactly am I living for, huh? The damn apocalypse? Watching men diy bloody while I sit in this chair, can't take a step to help 'em?"

"Bobby-"

"No, no. It's the facts. I'm old . . . and broke down . . . and I can't . . ." The old hunter paused, taking a shaky breath. "I ain't a hunter no more. I'm useless. And if I wasn't such as coward, I'd have stuck a gun in my mouth the day I got home from the hospital."

Silence. Alex stared at Bobby in shock and pity. Even without looking, she knew Sam and Dean had on the same expression.

Finally Sam spoke, and his voice as firm. "Bobby, you are not playing again, I'm not letting you do that. There's another way out of this. There's got to be. And I'm gonna find it." With that, he spun around and stalked off.

Alex watched him go. She snapped her mouth shut when she realized it was open before turning back to Dean and Bobby. They were already halfway to the motel. Alex hurried after them.

...

Dean unlocked the door and held it open, letting Bobby roll in. He followed, and Alex reached the door just before it closed. She stepped inside and froze. Out of instinct, her hand went behind her, reaching for her gun before she realized it wasn't there.

Lia sat on the bed. Seeing Alex's motions, she dropped her gun on the bed. Then she held up a piece of paper. "Take it. It'll help you."

Bobby stiffly rolled closer, reaching out to take the paper. "What is it?" he asked suspiciously.

"The most powerful reversal spell you've ever laid your eyes on."

"And it reverses what?" Dean stepped up next to Bobby, watching the woman with wary eyes.

The woman didn't seem to notice. "Patrick's work—all of it."

"You—you saying I could be normal again?"

"You and everyone else he's ever played." Lia caught herself, and added, "Who's still alive."

Dean studied her for a second. "Why the hell should we trust you?" he finally asked.

Lia shrugged. "Trust me, don't trust me. I don't care. The spell is real." She stood up and moved towards the door. Alex quickly moved out of the way. She hurried to the bed and scooped up her gun.

Bobby stopped her with a question. "If it zaps everyone, don't that include your man?"

Lia turned, brown eyes coming to rest on Bobby Singer. "And me, too. I look good for my age."

"Lady, this don't add up for squat." Bobby spun his wheelchair so he was facing her. "Why would you want that?"

"I have my reasons." Lia reached up, and her fingers fiddled with a silver locket around her neck. She looked down at it with a sigh. "Do it quick. We leave town tomorrow." With those words, she left the motel room.

The second the door closed, Dean and Bobby exchanged looks. Bobby unfolded the paper, eyes scanning the words. "Looks authentic," he finally said. "Maybe she's telling the truth."

Dean snorted. "Right. Why would she do that?" He walked over to the fridge and pulled out a beer.

"Well, it's the best we've got," Alex snapped. "Unless you think me or Sam would be better off playing away our years."

"You are not playing." Dean turned around, pointing his beer at her. He looked over at Bobby. "You sure we want to do this?"

"It's the best thing we got."

Dean studied Bobby for a second, then nodded. "Okay." He crossed over to stand in front of Bobby and took the paper. After a quick look, he said, "I'll call Sam. He couldn't have gotten too far. Then me and him will go get these things." He shoved the spell into his pocket. "You too stay here."

"Dean-"

"I'm serious. Stay." Dean pulled out his phone, grabbed the Impala's keys, and walked out.

Alex watched him go, lips pursed in frustration. She turned to see Bobby staring at her. "What?"

"Nothing." Bobby rolled over to the fridge. "How are those two treating you?"

Alex rolled her eyes at the question. "I'm fine," she promised. "Seriously. Sam and I are even getting alone."

"I noticed." Bobby pulled a bottle of whiskey, turning back to Alex.

Alex knew that look. "No."

"You sure? You two are pretty friendly. "

"Dude, gross." Alex made a face. "They . . . They're like my brothers, and fathers, and best friends, and," she paused, "I guess my boyfriends, but in the most platonic way possible, alright? Any flirting is purely through familiarity. I mean I love them, but I don't love love them." She stopped, realizing she rambling. When Bobby didn't immediately respond, she quickly added, "Cas included. They're not going to hurt me alright? Besides, I can take care of myself. "

"Keep telling yourself that, princess." Bobby rolled over to the tv and flicked it on. "Just make sure they keep their hands off of you."

"Would it make you feel any better if I told you I was gay?"

Bobby studied her for barely a second before dismissing the thought. "You're not gay. I've seen the way you look at Charlie."

Alex smiled. Charlie Heyward. Dude was an Adonis. "Charlie is hot," she agreed.

Bobby continued. "And you can barely stand talking to girls. You'd die if you had to actually date one."

"Alright, alright. I'm not gay. Fine. If you want to worry yourself to death over my love life; it's your funeral."

The hunter just grunted, turning back to the tv. With a sigh, Alex resigned herself to Dean's laptop.

...

Sam and Dean returned two hours later. Dean dropped a plastic shopping bag on the table. "Got everything we could," he announced.

"Are we sure this spell's going to work?" Sam asked Bobby.

"No idea. Hopefully." Bobby wheeled his way over to them. "What are we missing?"

"Just the fucker's DNA." Dean watched as Bobby put the whiskey bottle on the table, now half empty. He frowned.

"And we're going to do that how?" Bobby looked skeptically up at the Winchester.

"I'm going to play."

"Like hell you are."

"We need the distraction, alright?" Sam glared at Bobby. "And what does it matter if I lose? We're going to reverse it anyways."

"If it even works," Bobby shot back.

"Hey hey hey." Dean got in between the two hunters. "He's doing it, okay?" He pawed through the shopping bag. "There's one other thing we need. Jawbone of a murderer." He looked at Bobby. "We're going to have to dig this up."

"I'll go with Sam," Alex voted.

"Hell no!" Bobby turned on her.

"Why not? We don't know how much time we need! Maybe one game isn't enough!"

"There's no point," Dean snapped. "He's already made it clear that he won't play with you."

"And why not? How am I any different than anyone else he's played? He's just fucking with us, Dean."

"Maybe she's right. I think she should come," Sam suggested quietly. "I mean, you can handle digging one grave on your own, right?"

Dean glared at his brother, then at Alex, then blinked. "Fine. If that's what you want to do."

"That's what I want to do."

"You can't be serious." Bobby stared up at Dean. "I don't think she's ever played poker in her life."" He looked at Alex. "Do you even know the rules?" When Alex didn't answer, he turned to Dean. "You're just going to let her walk into this blind?"

"I know enough," Alex snapped. "And I have time to learn."

"But not enough to beat him." Bobby looked up at Dean for support.

Alex continued. "What does it even matter? We're gonna reverse the spell anyways!"

"Bobby." Dean put a hand on the hunter's shoulder. "Let her go."

Bobby grumbled something under his breath, eyes darkening.

Sam took Alex by the shoulder. "Come on. I'll teach you how to play."

...

That night, Alex followed Sam down below Emmits' Pub. They entered a dark room. Two men were seated around a poker table; Patrick was the once facing them. An old man sat with his back to them. He was hunched over, and even from there Alex could tell he was nervous. On the table she could barely make out five cards: two red face cards, and the other three were black. There was a large pot of chips off to the side.

Alex heard the clink of chips as the old man tossed a few in. Patrick hesitated, glancing at his cards, then looked up at the man, chewing on his toothpick. "I sense you've got me by the jewels on this one, Hesh. I fold." The old man hurriedly pulled the chips near to him while Patrick continued. "What are you up - like thirteen years there, Hesh? What do you say we call it a day?"

The man called Hesh let out a small chuckle. "Thanks, Patrick."

Patrick looked up at Sam and Alex. "Hesh here is gonna live to see his granddaughter's bat mitzvah. Isn't that right, Hesh?"

Hesh looked over his shoulder, surprised to see the newcomers. He turned back to the Irishman. "Thanks again, Patrick."

Patrick leaned back in his chair. "Shalom, my friend. Shalom."

Hesh got up and left, walking past Alex. She watched him go curiously. The sound of shuffling cards drew her attention back.

"That was nice of you." Sam approached.

Patrick shrugged. "I'm a nice guy. What can I do for you?"

Alex stepped forward. "We want to play."

"Ah ah ah." The Irishman leaned back, studying the girl. "It wouldn't be fair playing you."

The frustrated girl crossed her arms. "Why not? Because I'm a girl?"

The witch shook his head, slightly amused. "I'll play any human. Man, woman, doesn't matter to me. But I won't play you. I will, however, play you." Patrick motioned at Sam with his toothpick before placing it back into his mouth.

Sam sat down at the table, eyes cold. "Deal."

The Irishman smirked. "Very well." He slid a handful of chips over to Sam. "Twenty five years."

Sam nodded.

With a flick of the wrist, two cards lay in front of each man. "Blinds."

Sam tossed a chip into the center to meet the small blind. Patrick doubled it to meet the big blind.

Alex plopped down in a chair to watch.

...

Half an hour had passed. Alex was watching the game, elbows on the table, head in her hands. She looked up at Patrick; he was still chewing on that toothpick, watching Sam in amusement. A glass of whiskey sat to his left, and his stack of chips to his right.

Alex glanced over at Sam. His pile was quite a bit smaller, and his hazel eyes were studying his two cards with the same intensity as he often times showed while researching deities.

On the table between them lay five cards; a four of diamonds, a seven of clubs, three of hearts, a two of clubs, and a queen of hearts. The girl blinked, running through the possibilities, as she always did when the cards were laid out. The best cards to hold would be an ace and a five.

She was pulled out of her thoughts by Patrick's voice. "I like you, Sam. I do." The Irish witch motioned to Sam with his toothpick, which he now held in his right hand. "You're smart, and your heart's clearly in the right place."

Sam didn't answer. He didn't even look up.

Patrick threw his toothpick down on the table and picked up his whiskey, taking a long drink. "I can tell a lot about a guy by looking."

"You mean you're psychic."

The witch shook his head, a small laugh sounding at the back of his throat. "No. That'd be cheating. I'm talking about good old-fashioned intuition."

Sam nodded, only half caring. "Right. Let's just play."

Patrick took another long drink. "We are playing." He put his glass down next to his toothpick. "Does your big brother know you're here?"

Sam didn't answer. "Bet five." He picked up five chips and dropped them in the pile.

The witch looked over at Alex. She glanced up at him. "He thinks we're at a bar," she mumbled.

"Technically you are." The witch took a stack of five, dropped it upon another stack of five, and dropped it on the pile, turning his attention back to Sam. "I raise. Here you are, right? Trying to clean up their mess, and they still want to sit you at the kiddie table."

Sam looked down, studying his cards.

The Irishman played mindlessly with a few of his chips. "You're not the little brother anymore, Sam." Sam looked up, and Patrick continued. "Then again, maybe you are." The witch picked up his toothpick, using it to gesture. "You're in over your head here, Sam. I mean, you can keep making these moves — you know, playing it cautious, playing the percentages. But I'm still gonna kick your ass into the nursing home."

"Does this armchair-psychology routine usually work for you?"

Patrick laughed. "You tell me. You're the one who's losing." He stick his toothpick back into his mouth, rolling it around with his tongue. He motioned to the raised bet. "Now. What's it going to be?"

Sam folded.

...

It was ten minutes later. Three rounds had been played, and Sam had only won one. The witch had folded, and Alex suspected he was purposefully drawing out the game.

Patrick shuffled the deck with ease, eyes watching Sam. He had somewhere around thirty five chips, while Sam had approximately fifteen. The hunter rolled a chip between two large fingers, then looked over at Alex. "You okay?"

Alex smiled. "I'm fine." She pulled out her phone and looked down at the clock. "I might leave if I can't play," she added pointedly.

Patrick chuckled quietly. "I'm not going to change my mind." He looked up as the click of heels signaled the approach of a woman. Alex glanced over her shoulder to see Lia enter. She walked over to Patrick, and the witch put his toothpick down on the table as the woman leaned down to kiss him. He pulled back and looked over at Sam and Alex with a wink. "Little break?"

Sam nodded. He stood up, and the table jolted. The hunter reached out as the whiskey glass tipped, catching it before it fell. "Sorry," he apologized. Then he hurried away. Alex followed.

As they went up the stairs, Sam burst into a run. He threw open the doors and stopped in the dark night air. He had halted to suddenly that Alex almost careened into his broad back. "Sam!"

"How's it going in there?" Alex recognized old Dean's voice, and she stepped sideways so she could see him.

"How do you think it's going?" Sam snapped. "What about you? You have everything you need?"

"We still need a little he-witch DNA."

Sam held up the toothpick. "He was chewing on it." When Dean took it, he added, "Hurry up, Dean. Please."

"All right. Just keep him busy. And, Sammy . . . don't lose."

Sam nodded, and turned to go back inside. "You . . . you can stay here," he told Alex.

"Thanks." Alex nodded, stepping aside to let the hunter past.

"Something wrong?" Dean asked, concern lacing his voice.

Alex harrumphed. "He still won't play me."

"Maybe that's for the best." Dean turned and started back down the alley. Alex followed.

Bobby was sitting in his wheelchair in the back of the van. "What's she doing here?"

"He won't let her play." Dean waved the toothpick. "But we got what we need."

"Then we got everything." Bobby lit a match and dropped it in a bowl. Flames jumped up, and the old hunter pulled out a piece of paper. "Airmidh mi air maponus, dia na hogalachd. Gairmidh mi air sucellus dia na time."

Dean picked up a handful of powder, and dropped it in the flames. With a whoosh, they flared up in blue.

Bobby continued with the spell. "Till an-drasda obair uile gu bheilair a bhith deanta. Mar sin bitheadh." He nodded at Dean. "Drop it in."

Dean obediently dropped the toothpick into the flames. He paused for a second, then asked, "Well? How do I look?"

Alex frowned. He looked exactly the same. She and Bobby exchanged looks. "You look the same," she finally said.

Dean turned to her, and his eyes flashed in confusion and anger. He looked down at his wrinkled hands. "Son of a bitch."

"Great. It didn't work." Alex jumped up into the van. "Now what? Maybe the toothpick wasn't enough."

"Or the spell's crap." Dean turned away in disgust. "Dammit."

"We should go back to his place," Alex insisted. "Maybe we need something more!"

"And what if we don't?"

"Then Sam dies!" Alex's eyes grew wide. "Come on, Dean. This is our only shot. He's not going to win. You know that."

Dean hesitated, then nodded. "Okay."

Bobby wheeled closer to the front seat, then, with surprising strength, pulled himself out of his chair and over the front seat by his arms. He did however, land awkwardly on the seat with a loud curse.

"Was that really necessary?" Alex worriedly looked down at the older hunter.

Bobby righted himself with a huff. "I'm driving."

"You could have just asked for help." As soon as those words were out, Alex regretted it. This was Bobby Singer; he'd never ask for help.

Dean got into the front seat. "Just drive."

...

"I don't get it." Bobby looked over at Dean. "Everything we put in that spell was kosher."

"Yeah, everything except the damn toothpick."

"He probably switched toothpicks." Alex leaned over the seat. "I wouldn't put it past him. He's clever."

Bobby pulled the van up alongside the hotel. "You got to go get a speck of DNA," he told Dean. "Strap on your track shoes."

"Oh, goody. More stairs." Dean opened the van door and got out. Alex followed.

...

She once again beat him up the stairs. There she waited beside room 3701. A few minutes later, Dean appeared, wheezing. Despite the situation, Alex smiled. "Dude. Old age sucks."

She didn't catch exactly all of what Dean mumbled but she was pretty sure she heard the phrase, "you're a bitch." She grinned, kneeling down to pick the lock.

"Hurry up," Dean grumbled.

"At least I can see the lock," Alex shot back. She pulled the rake one more time, and the lock clicked open. "There."

Dean opened the door and they slipped inside. "See what you can find," he said, pointing off towards the bedroom.

Alex did as she was told. First she checked the bathroom. Nothing. Not even a damn hair on a comb. She jumped when she heard the ringing of a phone. It cut off as Alex recognized it as Dean's cell.

"It's too damn clean in here," she heard Dean say. "First witch I ever heard of didn't spew bodily fluids all over the place." He paused, and Alex quickly deduced that he was speaking to Bobby. Who else could it be? She resigned herself to looking around the bed.

"Sam . . ." Thump.

Alex looked up in alarm. "Dean?"

No answer.

Alex drew her gun and crept to the door, peering out. She dropped her weapon. "Dean!"

The hunter lay on the ground, barely conscious. His jaw was slack, eyes wide. Alex ran across the room and dropped by her friend's side. "Dean!" She pushed two fingers against his neck, trying to find a pulse. Then she placed a hand over his chest. Still feeling nothing, she slid her hand under his shirt. There. But it was weak.

"Sam." Dean gasped out his brother's name.

"It's okay." Alex pulled her hand out of his shirt and placed both on his chest. "You're going to be okay."

"Dean? Dean? Are you there?" Bobby's voice came faintly through the dropped phone. "Alex? What's going on?"

Alex pushed sharply on his chest with the heel of her hands, trying to keep his heart beating. "Live, dammit." Her voice cracked as she kept pushing down on his chest.

Dean's eyes rolled into the back of his head, breathing tapering off.

Alex kept trying, trying to bring him back into consciousness. Tears filled her eyes until she couldn't see anymore. She couldn't lose him. Not again.

She heard a loud inhale and she stopped. She blinked, looking down to see Dean laying there. He looked thirty years old. "That hurts."

Alex dropped onto his chest, trying to control her emotions, her whole body trembling with relief. "I thought you w-were dead."

"When have I ever stayed dead?"

Alex thumped him on the chest in mock anger. Dean put a hand on her back. "Are you okay?" His voice grew genuinely worried.

Alex didn't move for a second, then raised her head. "I'm okay." She wiped her eyes.

"I hope you don't cry this much when I die for good."

"I hate you." Alex stood up. "Come on. You're back to normal, which means something happened."

Dean looked at his hands, then scrambled to his feet. He glanced in a mirror and grinned, running a hand down his face.

Alex rolled her eyes. "Come on, Narkissos. Let's go find Bobby."

Dean beat her down the stairs, but only by a few seconds. He walked out the front door, and Alex watched as he jumped up, clicking his heels together in midair. Alex followed him out, smiling. She couldn't blame Dean for being happy.

Dean jumped into the front seat of the van, and Alex climbed in back. "Notice anything?" Dean asked smugly.

"I see you got your years back." Bobby's voice held a tinge of envy. "What happened in there?"

"Dean almost died." Alex's voice cracked slightly. "His heart gave out."

"I don't remember much myself," the hunter admitted. "I was on the ground, and Alex had her hand up my shirt-"

"I was looking for your pulse." Alex smacked him lightly on the head.

"Then when I came to, someone was punching my chest."

"They're called chest compressions, and I was saving your life."

"Speaking of, we didn't finish the spell."

"Which means either someone else did, or Sam actually won." As she spoke, the phone in her left pocket vibrated. She whipped it out, and opened the chat with Sam Winchester. "Speaking of, Sam's alive, and wants to know if you're alive."

Dean looked back, then grabbed the phone out of her hands. "That's mine." He immediately called his brother. "Sam? Yeah, I'm okay." Pause. "No, no. That's great. Uh. Yeah. Yeah, yeah, you do that." He hung up. "Sam'll be back at the motel in a few hours. He thinks it's a good idea to get a couple drinks first. Speaking of . . ."

"If you're going out, can you drop me off at the motel? I'm really tired." As if to prove her point, her jaw stretched open in a yawn.

"Sure thing, princess." Bobby turned the van off of the highway.

...

Alex unlocked the motel door and stepped inside. " 'M fucking tired," she mumbled to herself. Too tired to even bother changing, Alex collapsed on the nearest bed. She swore she heard a flutter of wings, but didn't move. "No, Cas. Go away."

She wasn't bothered.

...

"No tricks - you actually beat the guy?"

Alex jolted awake at the sound of Bobby's voice. She sat up to see Sam and Bobby by the table. How had she slept through them coming in?

She watched as Sam spread his arms in smug victory.

"How the hell?"

The tall hunter smirked. "Just got lucky." Seeing that Alex was now awake, he shot her a smile. "Morning, Pip."

Alex tossed back the covers. "Hey, Sam." She smiled in relief. "Sounds like I missed a lot."

Sam nodded. Then he moved towards the door just Dean stepped in, a large burger in hand. The young hunter grabbed his jacket. "Hey. I'll see y'all guys later."

Dean turned. "Where you going?"

"Uh . . . . mm, nowhere."

"Well, wherever you're going, take Pip with you." Dean turned to look at Alex. She frowned, but by the look in his eyes, she knew he wanted a few minutes alone with Bobby.

She obediently got out of bed. "Can I at least change?"

"I don't think that's a good idea," Sam started.

"No, and yes." Dean pointed to each of them in turn. "Go."

Alex threw on her shoes and hurried after Sam, grabbing Dean's heavy leather jacket on the way out. She pulled it on over her rumpled black t-shirt. "Where are we going?"

Sam looked flustered. "A . . . a booster shot, alright?" He hurried out to the Impala. "Don't say it."

Alex hurried after him. "I wasn't going to say anything. Who am I, your brother?" She slid into the front seat. "Tell you what. You can just drop me off at like, a store or something for a while if you want." She smiled innocently. "Unless you're scared of needles. I can hold your hand."

Sam started the car, pulling out into the street. "You're not funny."

"No, but I'm adorable." Alex leaned against the door, and placed her feet on Sam's thighs, careful enough to avoid his lap.

The hunter startled. "C-Can you not?"

"Tell me I'm adorable." Alex refused to move. "Admit it."

"Okay, okay. You're adorable. Move!"

Alex pulled her legs back and returned them to her side. "There. That wasn't so bad."

"I'm going to throw you in a lake."