Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to Supernatural.

The motel was unimpressive to say the least. Two twin beds stationed in the middle in the room boasted moth eaten blankets, thread bare sheets, and pillows that were tough and lumpy in all the wrong places. Covering the wall was a thick, paisley printed wallpaper bordered with images of the Fleur de Lis; in several places, the paper was peeling away from the wall to reveal a sickly moss green paint underneath. A top-heavy desk standing on wobbly, stick thin wooden legs sat between the beds, adorned with an old analog clock and a phone. The room boasted one bathroom, complete with a claw foot tub with wrap around curtain because it doubled as a shower as well. The toilet needed assistance in refilling the tank after each flush, but at least it worked.

Dean Winchester stood hunched over the porcelain sink, his hand hanging. The steady drip of water coming from the faucet was both annoying and mesmerizing. It had been a long night and he was tired. His age was starting to catch up with him; something he would never admit to Sam, who was engrossed in his laptop sitting on the bed. Normally, Dean would have made several jokes related to bed bugs and STDs that might have hung around from previous renters, but he was beat.

"You okay?" Sam called. Dean doused his face with cold water and then grabbed a grubby looking towel and quickly dried off.

"Yeah…yeah, just… it's been a long day, you know how it is." Dean threw himself onto the second bed and mentally cringed. Who knew what was living in this bed. His body felt broken…beaten beyond means. How he was still going was anyone's guess. Dean closed his eyes and welcomed the dark.

"Dean?" Sam yelled in the darkness, his voice echoing tenfold. He whipped around, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. "Dean?"

There was no answer. Sam felt the walls of darkness closing in on him. His throat began to tighten, and he clutched at his neck absently. He heard footsteps approaching from nothingness. Sam grasped at his waist but his gun was gone.

Someone touched his shoulder and Sam spun around. He stood face to face with Dean—black-eyed, monstrous looking Dean—who had blood spattered on his face and all over his shirt.

"Hi Sammy," he growled, raising his fist. Sam stood paralyzed, whether from fear or disbelief, he couldn't be sure.

"Dean, NO!"

Sam blinked, sunlight streaming into his eyes. For a moment, he forgot where he was; the horrible paisley wallpaper, the scratchy sheets, and holey blankets. The soft sound of snoring filled his ears and he glanced over at Dean, completely unconscious, arm dangling off the bed and a small pool of saliva gathered at the corner of his mouth.

The clock on the night table read 7:30 AM. Sam sat up in bed and grabbed his laptop, bringing it to life. He had about 20 different tabs open on his browser all related to the Mark of Cain. Flashes of the text he had read the night before ran through his mind. "Source of all evil...brother killed brother…cursed…eternal punishment…." His mind wasn't on the case at hand at all, which could become dangerous, but what was more important? His brother or some missing people who were, best case scenario, dead? For Sam, the answer was simple. Dean.

"Geez, Sammy, do you sleep? Ever?" Dean's voice cut through Sam's thoughts. He glanced over at his brother, quickly opening a new search tab on his laptop. The last thing he needed was Dean playing the "don't worry about me" card.

"Couldn't sleep," Sam said, shrugging. "I was going to do some more digging before we go over to that teller's place. You know, we don't want to be walking into a trap."

Dean chuckled and ran a hand over his face, "Sammy, trust me, it's not a trap."

Sam shut his laptop closed and swung his legs over the side of the bed, pulling on a pair of socks. Flipping his hair out of his eyes, he returned Dean's grin and began tying his sneakers, "I just think it would be better to be safe than sorry."

"If it makes you feel better, we'll bring the silver and Holy water, but trust me Sam, this chick is about as lame as they get. The way I see it, we help her bake some sweet, sweet pie, kick some ass at this competition, gank whoever is responsible, and be on our merry way. Easy as pie," Dean said, throwing a black T-shirt over his head. He noticed Sam's eyes drift to the crimson mark on his forearm.

"Sam, come on. It'll be nice to be working a straight, cut and dry case. We have time, we can figure all this out later," Dean motioned to his arm. Sam forced a smile and nodded.

"Okay, but I'm serious Dean, after this case we need to figure the Mark out," he said as Dean grabbed the keys to the Impala.

"But first, pie!"

"Fuck," Addie murmured. She stared into the bowl sitting on the kitchen counter. Inside, the egg whites, which should have been forming soft, foamy peaks, began to look curdled and clumpy—a clear indication that she over mixed them. Addie grabbed the spinning wire whisk out of the mixture, halting its spinning, and ran it over to the sink tossing it in unceremoniously.

"No good?" Apollo asked from the top of the dresser, where he was bathing in the morning sunlight.

"No," she said. "I don't know why I tried that manipulation spell. It would've been easier to just use the hand mixer."

"It's about the control of the spell, Addie," Apollo pointed out, using a paw to meticulously smooth his whiskers. "You don't have the control. Probably because you don't practice."

"Don't you have anything better to do than criticize me? Like cough up a fur ball or something? The vet said you gained two pounds since the last visit, go run some laps around the house."

"That's not my fault. I don't feed myself, I don't have thumbs, remember?"

Addie rolled her eyes and scraped the egg white goo out of the mixing bowl. There was no use arguing with a cat. She still hadn't told him about the man she met last night; how he and his brother were looking to crack the case of the bake-off as well. Apollo didn't take kindly to strangers.

"Addie, someone's coming," Apollo said urgently, his nose pressed against the window. "Two men?"

"It's okay, Apollo, they're…" she hesitated. She couldn't say friends, because they weren't friends. Hell, she had just met them last night. "They're safe. They want to help."

A soft knock on the door echoed throughout the high-ceilinged house. Apollo threw Addie a dark look and jumped off the dresser, landing with a loud thud on the ground, before scampering off under the bed.

Addie walked calmly to the door and checked her appearance briefly in the mirror. There were egg whites stuck in her hair in various places. She tried to smooth them out but only managed to clump it together. Whatever, that would have to do. Besides, it wasn't like she was auditioning for a Miss America pageant.

She threw the door open and was faced with two men, both over six feet tall, dressed in flannel shirts and jeans. The one from her session last night looked like he hadn't slept, and the other, the one with the longer hair, looked incredibly suspicious.

"Addie," the one from last night said, Dean? Maybe? "This is my brother, Sam."

"Nice to meet you," the one named Sam said, shaking her hand with an unnecessarily firm grip. He fidgeted in his pocket for a moment before pulling out a badge and ID. "We're FBI. I understand my brother told you we are in the line of work?"

"Woah, what? Yeah, he mentioned something like that, but I don't think he said anything about the FBI," Addie's eyes were wide as she stared at the badge. Sam noticed her hands drift towards the bottom of her shirt and begin twisting the material around her wrists.

"We typically don't like to share that information when we are undercover," Dean piped up.

"Well, come in," Addie said, stepping out of the doorway. Dean was immediately struck by the overwhelming scent of cinnamon and sugar. His stomach began speaking its own language.

"Do either of you bake?" Addie asked, leading them into the kitchen. Sam took stock of everything around him. For the most part, the kitchen was relatively nice. The room was open, with a small, white gas stove positioned near the rear wall. There was ample counter space, although it was sectioned off by the sink and dishwasher, and Addie had various mixing bowls, ingredients, and measuring spoons strewn haphazardly over the counter.

"Not to toot my own horn, but I'm pretty good with boxed mac and cheese," Dean said. He chuckled as Sam rolled his eyes. Addie crossed her arms, looking unimpressed.

"I've made some cakes while I was at Stanford," Sam offered. "Nothing overly fancy though."

"You went to Stanford?" Addie asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Yeah, it feels like it was another life ago."

"What did you study? Criminal justice?"

"Let's just say it wasn't culinary arts," Dean chimed in. "So Addie, what's the game plan? What are we baking?"

"Actually, I was hoping you would be able to tell us a little about the bake off, if you don't mind," Sam said, putting a hand on Dean's shoulder. Typical Dean, he wanted to jump right to the good part of the investigation without actually getting any information.

"I don't know a lot, so I might not be the best source, but I can tell you what I know," Addie said, her face turning serious. "As you may know, French Quarter Fest has been around since the 1970's and it's always been a time where cooks, musicians, and arts come to the city and let their craft be seen, heard, and eaten. It's actually a lot of fun. My mom used to take me every year when I was a kid.

The bake off started about ten years ago. My mom started competing because she loved to bake and it was a great chance to show off her skills. She was a fabulous baker, way better than I'll ever be. About 10 years ago, she won. I was watching from the crowd. I remember her going up and receiving her ribbon. She was supposed to go around back to get a picture with the judging panel, but she never came back. She was found a few days later with her heart ripped out and traces of poison in her bloodstream."

Addie paused for a moment and took in a deep breath. She inhaled deeply before continuing,

"There were no leads, there was no evidence, there was…nothing. Just her dead. So they stopped looking because detectives can only do so much. It wasn't their fault. They had nothing to go on. The next year, the same thing happened. The winner was chosen and they showed up dead a few days later, heart ripped out and traces of poison. This went on for about 5 years until the festival officials had the sense to call it off. The bake off was banned, but you see, it had become such a big part of French Quarter Fest that hundreds of people were disappointed they wouldn't have the opportunity to compete. Thus, the underground division was born.

People are still dying each year after the winner is announced, but that hasn't stopped anyone from coming. If anything, I feel like it's drawn more people to it. It has such a dark and twisted history that everyone wants to know if it's the real deal or not. It's like a twisted adrenaline rush. But I'm not like that. I want to know what's going on behind this and I want to know what happened to my mom."

"Were any of the judges the same year after year?" Sam asked, eyebrows furrowed.

Addie shook her head, "No, they've always been different. Trust me, I've been trying to investigate this for a long time now. I figure the only way in is to win."

"And what do you plan on doing if you win? You're what? 100 pounds soaking wet? How are you going to protect yourself and take down the killer?" Dean asked, sizing the small woman up. She wouldn't last a minute in a fight.

"I—well I haven't gotten that far yet," Addie said, casting a sideways glance towards the wall. "I know I don't look like much…"

"Damn straight you don't look like much," Dean said, crossing his arms. "Unless you buy some hoodoo to beef yourself up from dear old Roscoe, but you don't strike me as that type of person."

Addie turned a deep shade of crimson and ran a hand through her hair. When she looked back at the brothers, her eyes were bright with determination.

"Look, we can worry about that when the time comes, but right now our biggest problem is that I can't actually bake anything worthy of winning first place. So, do you guys have any ideas?"

A/N: Hey everyone! Sorry it's been so long! Life has been absolutely hectic the past few months. We moved into a new house, school started, and life has just gotten the best of me. Anywho, I hope you enjoy this new update and please, please remember to review!