No excuse I can offer will make up for my missing last week.

If it helps, I was getting my wisdom teeth out and have spent the time since madly trying to make up the work I missed while out with sickness and surgery.

Hope this chapter helps to satisfy everyone - you all have given me such lovely comments I feel endebted.

And I just came my philosophy class and am typing in the style of the teacher. Go figure.

Fun fact: There are actual reasons as to Sam and Dean's codenames in Carden's cell phone, both taken from season 4. Dean's codename, Helen, is taken from when he said his last name was Van Halen in 'In the Beginning'. Sam's is Linus, taken from the title 'It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester'. In Charlie Brown, Linus is the only person who honestly believes in the Great Pumpkin. Elmo, though, is in tribute to my roommate, who worked at Sesame Street and enjoys randomly breaking out in, "Elmo, will you drive my car?"

I sighed as I watched Detective Wiggums stroll around the room, smacking her lips as she read over the case file one more time. Maybe that's supposed to be intimidating, but it's not. I honestly couldn't give a rat's ass that I'm in this situation. At this point, I work for a place that thinks it's above mere political power. We've been given a mandate from God, or something. But they'll get me out of here.

"So you were standing at the top of the stairs when they found you?" Oh, this line of questioning again. Actually, I'm being almost completely honest with her. I'm just not telling her who did it. Why? Because if I tell her it was my crazy ex kidnapping my brother trying to finish the job he started halfway through September, but not to follow on this lead because he's not just a regular ex-boyfriend, but a demon ex-boyfriend, she might flip.

"Yes, yes I was." I could repeat her next point almost verbatim.

"So you stepped OVER the body to get to that spot?"

"Unless I climbed the wall and jumped the railing, I would have to." I love that honesty can have a sarcastic, angry spin to it and still be honesty. Sarcastic truth is so under-appreciated.

"But you didn't know she was there?"

I glared at the back of the detective's chocolate-brown hair, not sure exactly why she was keeping this up. "I knew she was there; I was searching the house for it's fifth occupant.'

"And how did you know that there was a fifth occupant?" Aha! She caught me! Not.

"Because he's my best friend's roommate at boarding school but he hasn't come back from Thanksgiving break yet so I said I'd check his house and see how he was doing."

"Really? Because the only person missing is a Trevor Richdale and he goes to the public high school."

I scoffed, "Well yeah, now he does. I don't know who they thought was him in the beginning of the year."

"You think you're funny, don't you?"

"I think I'm going to get out of this and you can't stop me." Heh. Complete, undeniable honesty. Only 'know' would be a better term. Details, details.

There was a knock on the door, completely unnecessary seeing as how Susan Pendle, dressed in her most business-esque attire, barged in without waiting for a response. She stood, her hit jutted out as she pursed her lips at Dedective Wiggums, "Talking to my client without an attorney present?" For a second, the detective gaped at her, but Susan left no room for back talk. She hated back talk. "I'm the defendant's lawyer Quinn Yardley, and she won't be saying anything else until you give me some time alone with her to discuss this situation."

For a second Wiggums stood there, gaping like we'd be on the verge of a confession and she'll never get me back to that point; too bad she never got there in the first place. I could come up with a cheeky metaphor, but Susan's back and sucking the creative energy out of me just by pursing her made-up lips at the detective like a… fish.

See. All gone.

"You have ten minutes," the detective almost growled before stalking out of the room, her shoulder blades visibly jutting out of her back.

Susan let out a breath as she pulled up a chair across from me, her eyes narrowed in a way that was only slightly more intimidating than any one of detective Wiggums' various scare tactics. "What did you do, Carrie?"

I rolled my eyes, "I didn't kill them; I don't even have a knife on me." Lie: I had Brady. But the police didn't find him and the Council doesn't know about him. I was only being honest with the police; I'll say anything I need to to Susan.

"I mean why were you there, at the house? How did you even know where the house was?"

"I told you I had a bad feeling about Allan; you weren't going to do anything, so I did. It's called taking the initiative to make sure my one living relative Is still, you know, alive and safe."

"You disobeyed the rules; you obviously kept in contact with him," Susan's voice had turned cold. I physically flinched, not because I was scared of her; no, I was scared of what she could do to me for this. They could move Allan across the country. I would never see him or hear from him again. Even if he died they wouldn't tell me.

"Look, can you lecture me back at the house; Azazel knows where I am while I'm here, he probably tracked me from the house, so I'd rather get out and not keep putting these people in danger." Ha – I played the 'innocents' card. She can't keep me here while I'm a known target. It's, like, against the code or whatever.

"We have no proof Azazel did this," Susan hissed, as if by saying his name we were bringing him upon us. She straightened her posture, though, and her voice took on a primness that made me want to hurt her much more than usual. "And besides, you're not going back to the house. Ever."

For a second, I swore that I'd misheard her, or that she hadn't said anything at all and it was my imagination. There was even a moment when I considered that she might have been possessed by a demon. All of that changed, though, when I realized that there was a very serious look in her eyes. "What?!" I shouldn't be screeching; I openly hated my life at that damn house. "WHY?!" Yelling is even less reasonable.

"Because, Carrie, like I said; you broke the rules. We dropped you, and for the last time. You're too much of a liability to our operation. I came to say you're on your own. No posting your bail, no giving you an alibi." Susan stood then, brushing at the front of her navy blue jacket like the metal table had stained it, "I'd say it was a pleasure, but we both know you were a headache and a brat."

I still sat there, slack jawed and finding the entire situation incomprehensible; I knew something was wrong, tried to stop it, and somehow I'm losing everything all over again? "What about Allan?"

"Our connection to him was you; he'll take no priority over all the other victims of demon kidnappings."

That's translatable to, "He'll be put at the bottom of our 'to find' list and somehow keep getting bumped down until it's been so long all the leads are cold and we can pronounce him dead." How could they be so heartless?

"You can't do that," I protested, actually scared by one of Susan's threats for the first time in my life, "You can't. He's innocent; he can't defend himself. He doesn't even have a lot of common sense!"

Susan paused, obviously thinking about the most appropriate, bitchy response to my plea. "We have reasons to believe he wasn't so innocent."

And like that, Susan slammed the door behind her and was gone. I continued to gape for a few seconds, but with a strange life the door almost bounced back open, a Bill Pullman-like man leaning and taking in the sight of me with wide eyes. The Trickster.

The sigh that I exhaled was surprising. I didn't think I had that much lung capacity. Especially after so many months of not working out or even moving too much. "Heya, cowgirl," the Trickster brought me back into reality, a crooked smile on his face, "Need some help?"

This was the second time the Trickster had appeared when I was on the verge of a freak out and needed help; I'm starting to really like this guy.

I nodded quickly and, with a wave of his hand, the handcuffs that had been holding me to the metal interrogation table disappeared. Still smiling crookedly at me, I stood and let the Trickster take a few steps forward, wrapping an arm around me waist and teleporting us into my room back at the house.

"Hurry," he instructed as I stumbled around my room for a second, a little thrown by the teleportation. That was something straight out of 'Jumper', only it wasn't nearly as cool without Hayden Christensen. "We don't have that much time before they come for your stuff."

"Where did Azazel take Allan," I questioned, my visioning finally straightening out enough that I could stumble to my dresser and throw what I had into a duffel bag.

"I have no idea," the Trickster confessed, "But I have to get out of here; if they find me here they'll do more than kick me out of the order."

I nodded, wishing that he could stay. What with him being like an evil guardian angel, I really wanted him around to help me find my brother.

There was no doubt in my mind that I would leave this 'life' that the council had given me and find Allan. What else did I have to do? Find Allan and protect him at all costs; that was my life now. That and taking Azazel down. Maybe find his sword and stab him viciously. That sounds nice.

"Here," the Trickster added, obviously almost forgetting, "I grabbed what they confiscated." I turned just in time to have my purse thrown at me. By the time I caught it, the Trickster had already disappeared and there were footsteps stomping up the stairs. Wizards and such, no doubt. All on their way to destroy any evidence of little old me; clean the magical crime scene, as it were.

I could try and bully my way through them on the stairs, but I think I'll take my chances with the emergency fire exit.

I paced in my dirty motel room, the general hygiene of the place so disgusting not even cockroaches dared to frequent the place. But I hadn't expected to be leaving, and therefore only had a few hundred bucks in my account. And since I didn't know how long I'd be on my own looking for Allan and Azazel. Moreover, without any way to prove that I was a person by American standards, I needed a lot of documentation that I simply didn't have the time or resources to fake, so I'm guaranteed a shit job with little pay. And that's assuming I have enough time to be working.

I considered, momentarily, calling my Aunt Ellen and Jo; I wasn't real close with them, but I'm pretty sure I had their numbers in my cell phone. Even so, they weren't hard to find. Neither of them were on the run from the cops, if I remember correctly. They're probably in the yellow pages of wherever their living.

But those aren't the reasons I'm pacing; I have faith that, even if my situation has never been quite this dire before, I can pull through. No, what I'm worried about is how I'm going to find Allan. I know it was Azazel who took him, or at least someone who was working for Azazel, but I had no idea how to find him or what to do to get him back. I'd tried scrying, but apparently Azazel simply isn't on this planet. Well, it's that or he put up wards, in which case I'm screwed. Wards are a wizard thing, not a Slayer thing.

So how was I going to find him? I have no independent resources, no partner in crime. The Trickster had set me free a week ago and, so far, he'd made no attempt to help me out again. What I need is someone who knows demons, specifically Azazel, who would be willing to risk their lives to help me find my brother, and it would be good if they could help me out n my living situation. That might be asking too much, though.

Of course, exactly one name came to mind, and about that name I was extremely torn. Wasn't this the sort of reason as to why I kept his number in the first place? Then again, he's… well, he's Dean Winchester, and when it comes to him I'm admittedly a little biased. Would he actually help me, or am I just

Fuck it, I thought, grabbing my phone and starting to scroll wildly through the contacts, Even if he turns me down, I have to try. He's my only hope. I repressed the urge to gag at the sad validity and cliché-ness of that statement.

Dean's voice was confused and obviously a little scared when he answered, "Hello?"

My own voice was weak with crying, "Dean?" Stunned silence. "Dean, I need your help."