A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I'm glad you all are enjoying this story. Helps me stay inspired to keep going! :) Thanks again!

CHAPTER 11 - "Knife's Edge"

I awoke slowly. My head was muzzy and my limbs heavy, but I felt rested and relatively refreshed. That combined with the speed with which alertness was returning suggested that I'd probably been asleep for some time. The air tasted stale and metallic and I was aware of the scent of rust and oil. I felt like a weight was pressing down on my chest, but when I waved my hand to push it away, there was nothing there.

I opened my eyes to find myself staring up at a strange, round ceiling. Light filtered in through an overhead grate. The heavy, metal grillwork was fashioned in the shape of a pentagram within a pentagram, surrounded by a circle, with a sigil in each of the star's points.

I wasn't familiar with that exact formation, but I could suss out its parts and purpose without much difficulty. It was meant to bind or contain something ... or maybe ward it off? No, I was pretty sure the runes indicated binding.

That wasn't a terribly comforting thing to wake up to and I quickly pushed up onto my elbows and flexed my legs. I encountered no difficulty moving, so whatever the spell was for, it wasn't binding me, at least.

I found I was lying on an old fashioned metal framed cot in the center of a small, circular room with a concrete floor and metal walls - probably iron? There was another giant pentagram design painted on the floor and charms and sigils of varying types were painted and carved across almost every inch of the walls. Some of the spellwork looked meant to keep things in, others parts were clearly intended to keep them out. Some of the runes I recognized, some I didn't. There were a few on the far wall that seemed to visibly writhe and made my eyes sting when I looked at them, so I didn't look at them.

I blinked and shook my head. The air felt charged and coppery. The room was so heavily warded that it was almost difficult to breathe in here. That was the phantom weight I'd felt, I realized. Rolling stiffly onto my side, I sat up with a groan, feet dangling over the side of the bed. I was stiff and sore and felt uncomfortably gritty, but I was otherwise uninjured.

I found Trent lying on another cot, beside mine. His eyes were closed, but the steady rise and fall of his chest said he was only sleeping. There was something that looked like an oxygen mask over the lower part of his face. It connected to a small, portable unit parked on the floor by the bed.

I reached for the mask, pulling it off and sniffing it cautiously, testing what was coming out. Satisfied that it was, in fact, just oxygen and not some kind of drug or poison, I fitted it back over Trent's mouth and nose again. The tenseness in my shoulders relaxed just a little. The presence of the oxygen mask was marginally reassuring in that it meant whoever had put us here wasn't necessarily indifferent to our health.

A heavy, metal door set into the wall appeared to be the only way in or out of the strange room. Crossing over to it, I tried the handle. I wasn't very surprised to find it locked, but it did up my anxiety and adrenaline levels. I did not like being caged.

"Hey!" I pounded on the door with the side of my fist. "Hello?!" Don't panic, I told myself. Sure, you're locked in a heavily charmed room God knows where with no idea whether there's actually anybody out there to hear you or not ... about then, I decided to stop giving myself advice because it decidedly wasn't helping.

Stepping back, I forced myself to breathe deeply and assess the situation. We were alive, that was good. There was a lot of magic going on in here, but none of it was actively harming us, even if it wasn't comfortable. I frowned thoughtfully. The thing about drawn charms was that if they weren't actively targeting you, they could be modified - if you knew what you were doing. Some of these looked tamper-resistant by nature, but there were a few I thought I could adapt enough to take control of, if I had the right medium. I wished I had some magnetic chalk, but even if I'd had any in my pockets it probably wouldn't have survived the past few days' events. If I got desperate, I could always use blood.

I wasn't quite that desperate, yet. I wanted to know more about our situation, including why and where we were being held, before I started reacting blindly. Still, it didn't hurt to gather ideas and fall back plans.

Whether or not my calls had garnered any outside attention, they did seem to have woken Trent because when I turned around again I found that he was sitting up. He'd removed the mask and held it in his hand, frowning as he looked around the room, probably making a lot of the same observations as I had.

"Where are we?" He asked me, like I had any idea.

I shrugged. "Don't know, but it's a charming little place, isn't it?" I remarked dryly as I took another turn around the room.

Trent was contemplating the oxygen mask in his hand. "The Winchesters?"

I shrugged again. "Probably, unless they handed us off to somebody else." I didn't like that thought at all. If we were being disappeared into the bowels of some shadowy, HAPA-like organization, then there were far too many unpleasant reasons why they might be keeping us alive.

Trent coughed into his hand and I turned quickly towards him, remembering what had happened before. I didn't see any blood this time though and the cough subsided momentarily. Trent raised the oxygen mask back to his face and took a few breaths before letting it fall back to his lap. His movements were deliberately casual, but he wouldn't look at me.

"How you are you feeling?" I asked. "And don't just tell me you're fine," I added quickly.

Trent's lips quirked up in a half-smile. "Very well, in that case, how about I say I'm all right?"

I folded my arms and gave him a distinctly un-amused glare. I was in no mood to put up with any more of Trent's evasive bullshit. I needed to know what kind of shape he was in; details like that could be pretty important if we had to make a break for it.

Trent sighed. "I believe my lungs may have taken some damage," he admitted matter-of-factly, mostly, I think, to appease me. "This room is almost certainly making it worse, but I do not seem in any immediate danger." He raised his eyebrows at me as if to ask if I was happy now.

The clang of a bolt being pushed aside made me turn quickly back towards the door. Out of my periphery vision I saw Trent slide silently off the bed.

The door swung open with a rasping of metal and I was slightly relieved to see Sam and Dean standing outside. We had a bit of a history with them at this point and I hoped that would count for something. It was better than being in the hands of complete strangers, anyway.

I put my hands on my hips. "Love the guest room," I told them dryly. "But you should think about getting some new drapes."

Faint amusement flickered across the brothers' faces. "You two have been out for quite a while. Wanted to make sure you rested safely," Dean said with a guarded smile.

"Yeah? Safe for whom?" I wondered. "How long is a while? Where are we?" I asked instead, wanting to pretend we were having a nice, casual little conversation and that were weren't prisoners.

"Little over a day or so. We're at a friend's house, near Sioux Falls," Sam told us.

I goggled at him. "As in South Dakota?" I blurted, both surprised and unsettled that we'd been transported across at least four States while we were unconscious. It had to be a good 12 hour drive at least, but apparently we'd been out at least twice that long. My palms felt clammy and I unconsciously wiped them on my grimy jeans. This could be really bad, depending on why they'd brought us all the way out here and who their friends might be.

"Nah, Sioux Falls, Florida," Dean drawled sarcastically. "Thought we'd work on our tans."

"Right," I said with an equally sarcastic grin that attempted to hide my apprehension. "Hope you reserved us a cabana."

Behind me, Trent started coughing and had to use the oxygen mask again. I glanced in his direction and when my gaze returned to the doorway I found that Sam had stepped inside the room, towards the beds. I tensed, quickly moving over to put myself between Trent and the hunter. It put me uncomfortably close to the tall man, but I refused the urge to back away.

Sam stopped when I got in his way. In the doorway, Dean tensed, but Sam held his hand out to the side in a gesture for peace. "Rachel, relax, it's okay." He was using his reassuring voice again, but I couldn't tell whether he meant it, or if it was just the soothing way you'd talk to a tiger that you wanted to keep from pouncing.

"Yeah, sure," I said tensely. "Because this situation just screams okay, right? I mean, who wouldn't love being carted across a few states and locked up in a creepy basement?" I was going for snarky, but I think a little more of my fear was coming through than I would have liked. "So how about you just stay the hell back until you tell me what you want?"

"I just wanted to check him," Sam said reasonably, although I got the feeling he was intentionally avoiding my larger question. "He was having trouble breathing earlier, that's why we brought in the oxygen." His gaze was still on me, but he nodded his chin towards Trent.

I glanced back and saw that Trent continued to hold the mask to his face, struggling for breath between coughing fits. He hadn't been that bad a few minutes ago and I was deeply worried ... until I realized what he was doing. I knew Trent and if he were really as bad off as he seemed he would be trying to hide that vulnerability from the hunters. The fact that he wasn't made me think he was exaggerating his weakness to put them off guard.

I didn't move out of the way. "Yeah, that's cause we kind of toasted ourselves saving your butts," I said firmly. "And it's the room. It's amazing he can breathe at all in here." I gestured about us with my head, intentionally over-selling the situation to see how much they were or weren't going to care. "I don't suppose we could take this little chat somewhere else?"

Sam and Dean exchanged glances and seemed to come to a silent agreement. I honestly hadn't expected them to let us out, so I was fairly surprised when Sam stepped back out of the room and Dean nodded his head towards Trent and me, gesturing us to follow. "Well, you waiting for an invitation, or what?"

Wary, but marginally relieved, I cautiously exited the cell, stepping over lip of the door. It kind of made me think of a submarine or boat portal more than a normal doorway. Trent followed me out. We found ourselves standing in a slightly more normal looking basement, although there were a few wards out here as well and there was a faint, lingering odor of blood that wasn't entirely reassuring.

I started when I realized we weren't alone. There was another man down here. He was older than the brothers and sported a short beard. His features were worn by time, but the eyes that regarded us from beneath a fraying ball cap were bright and alert. He had a shotgun held loose, but ready in front of him. He'd been hanging back, I realized, in case there was trouble. In case we tried anything.

Trent and I both stopped when confronted with the armed stranger.

"Rachel, Trent, Bobby," Dean nodded back and forth between us in an abbreviated sort of introduction. I saw Dean give a small "it's okay" gesture to the older man.

Bobby's body language loosened a little and he rested his weapon back against his shoulder in a less threatening posture. "Pleasure, I'm sure," he drawled with a twang of a backwoods accent I couldn't quite place. His voice was gruff and guarded, but not overtly threatening. "Boys been tellin' me some interesting stories about you two."

"Trent Kalamack, it's good to meet you," Trent provided a slightly more formal introduction, as if we were at a perfectly normal social event. He smiled and held his hand, clearly in schmooze mode. His breathing was still labored, but improving. I wasn't sure how much was affect on his part and how much was real, but I think getting out of the room actually had helped him. I knew I was breathing a little easier.

Bobby hesitated for a moment, then accepted Trent's offered handshake.

"Rachel Morgan," I said, following suit and offering my hand with a smile. I wasn't usually much for formalities, but it wouldn't hurt to reinforce the idea that we were normal people just like them ... except for the ways in which we weren't, of course.

Like the Winchesters, Bobby's default setting seemed to be wary alertness, but he returned the greeting with less hesitation this time and gave my hand a firm little shake. "Bobby Singer. This is my house," he nodded about us. "We were just going to have lunch. You might as well come up and join us."

He turned and started up the basement stairs. Trent and I followed with the Winchesters bringing up the rear. By now, I was starting to feel fairly confused about our status here. Despite all the wariness I was getting from everyone, they weren't really treating us like prisoners. That wasn't to say I wanted to see what would happen if Trent and I tried to just leave, but at least for the moment their intentions didn't seem overly sinister.

I exchanged glances with Trent as we reached the top of the stairs and saw similar thoughts reflected on his face. I supposed we'd just wait and see how things unfolded.

"What happened in the woods, with the kids?" I asked as we took seats around a battered kitchen table covered with sandwich fixings. "Did they make it out okay?"

Sam nodded. "Yes, we got the bus working shortly before you two passed out. We drove them out of there. Bobby and a couple other hunters got there not long after and we were able to clean things up." By which, I supposed, he meant they'd eradicated the ghouls. I was sure it hadn't been as easy as he made it sound, given how many there had been.

"Bet that was fun," I observed. The smell of food was reminding me that it had been almost two days since I'd eaten much of anything and I found myself feeling a little dizzy.

"Tons," Sam said sarcastically, pulling over a plate that held a half-made sandwich and adding some lettuce to it. I guessed our waking must indeed have interrupted them in the middle of making lunch.

I grabbed a paper plate and a couple pieces of bread and began layering on everything in reach. I was starving.

"Oh, but not nearly as fun as trying to explain what happened to the bus," Dean put in around a mouthful of his own, already completed sandwich. He ate standing up; hips leaned back against the ancient stove against the wall. They were all being guarded with us, but I could tell that underneath that they seemed to have a deep level of familiar comfort with this house, suggesting that they were not infrequent visitors.

I looked inquiringly at him, but it was the older man, Bobby, who answered. Bobby wasn't eating, but had gone to the counter and poured himself a drink.

"They've already started tentatively connecting the incident to the other highway disappearances. The way they're reportin' it now, they think there was some weird cult operating in the woods and that the bus attack was the latest in a string of bizarre, drug-fueled, car-jack kidnappings gone bad. The driver's a hero for keeping the kids safe, although he banged his head up pretty good and remembers almost nothing about what happened. They're still huntin' for the people responsible, or any trace of the "good Samaritans" who found the bus and called the cops. Way we left things in the woods, they'll probably eventually conclude that their "cult" members went and committed mass suicide when threatened with exposure, torching their hideout and themselves as their final act."

Dean's made a rueful expression. "Of course, the kids tell a different story. Fortunately, not too many people are going to believe a bunch of third graders when they say their bus was attacked by zombies and they were saved by a bunch of Harry Potter wannabes."

I didn't know who Harry Potter was, but I got the general idea. You might not be able to control what the children said, but their credibility was also fairly low. Poor kids, they were probably in for years of therapy. At least they were alive. I was genuinely relieved to hear that things had turned out so well. I was glad that this story at least had gotten to have a happy ending.

"Why were they all gathering in those woods, anyway?" Trent wanted to know. "I get the impression that was not normal behavior for their kind?"

Sam shook his head. "No, it's not. There's ... a lot of stuff going on right now." He gestured vaguely as if to encompass the world as a whole. "There's kind of this mother of all monsters on the loose and she's been going around stirring up trouble and creating new creatures. We think Cincinnati just had a larger ghoul population to rally than some places."

"New Orleans would have it worst right now, if Hurricane Katrina hadn't flooded all the cemeteries and forced a ton of migratin' a couple years ago," Bobby put in. He seemed to me like someone who probably had his finger on the pulse of the hunter world at large. It was also interesting to hear that our worlds shared the same storm patterns, although from what he said I guessed that this world hadn't had the local vampire camarilla working 24-7 with superhuman speed and strength to keep the levies from breaking, or a witch community that could form a collective to bubble the Superdome. Like the Hollows, our New Orleans was predominately populated by Inderlanders.

"You all seem to have this whole routine down pretty well," I observed. "You been doing this long? Traveling around and clearing out trouble spots?"

All three men looked at each other. Bobby seemed to chose not to answer, but the Winchester boys shrugged. "All our lives," Dean said simply.

"Our Dad started hunting after our Mom was killed. He raised us in the life," Sam provided a nutshell summary, and I had a feeling that was all we were likely to get from them on the topic.

"Usually you don't see that many creatures in one place though," Dean added in a not terribly subtle effort to redirect the conversation elsewhere.

"Made clean up a bitch," Bobby agreed, assisting Dean in keeping the conversation focused on the present, I thought. "We managed, but it was still best to clear out of there as fast as possible."

"We couldn't wake either of you," Sam picked up the round-robin narrative after swallowing a bite of his sandwich. "We had no idea where you're from or where to leave you, so we brought you back here to Bobby's with us. We weren't sure it would be safe to just drop you at the hospital or something. The other night it sounded like you might be in some kind of trouble. Although ... I think there was a lot you probably left out?"

"Yeah, like being witches," Dean said dryly, the cool dislike obvious again in his tone.

I gave him a flat look. You got a problem, mister? "Yeah, kind of like you two were traveling mechanics, right?" I shot back. I was having difficulty getting a bead on these people. On one hand, maybe they really hadn't wanted to leave us in uncertain circumstances after I'd intimated that we were being hunted. On the other, maybe they'd been more worried about the danger we might pose to others. Or maybe it was some mix of the two. They were a hard lot to figure out.

Sam smiled wryly. He was obviously used to playing "good cop". "Well, you know our story now. How about yours?"

I looked at him for a long moment, taking several more bites of my quickly vanishing sandwich. In actuality, we still knew very little about their story, but it was clear they needed us to do some explaining now and that a great deal of how things went from here might hang on what we said.

I glanced at Trent who was picking at his food and watching us. He gave me a very small nod.

"Well, technically," I said slowly. "I'm the only one who's a witch. He's an elf." I nodded over at Trent. They had to still be wondering about his ears, it was better to give them the truth on that front.

I saw Dean's eyebrows go up and he looked at Trent curiously. "You're a fairy?"

Trent almost choked on the water he was drinking and quickly set down the glass. He shot the other man a bemused expression. "An elf not a fairy. Do I look like I'm six inches tall?"

"Last elves I saw were about six inches tall," Dean retorted. "Running around making watches and getting drunk on milk, when they weren't stealing people's firstborn kids. Ya'll really need to work up a better classification system."

"Basically," I interrupted them, pressing ahead with my explanation before we could get too far off course. "All that really means is that I can mix a few earth spells like the healing charm I made at the hotel. We can only pull off magic of the type we were using in the woods by drawing the energy through Trent, and that comes at a cost." Obviously, that wasn't the way things were supposed to work had we been at home, but I'd decided to give them the truth of how things stood right now ratherthan get too deep into anything more complicated. Downplaying our abilities, and therefore any perceived threat, seemed like a good idea at the moment.

"It damages him to be used that way; it's why we passed out. The only reason we did it was because it was a life or death situation. Look, I can tell you don't like witches and I can't speak for any others you may have met, but Trent and I aren't trying to do anything bad to anybody."

"So long as they stay out of your way," Dean prodded, and I got the feeling he was intentionally being abrasive. So he was "bad cop", then.

"Hey, if somebody tries to hurt me or other people, you better believe I will fight back. Because I have a few additional resources to do that with doesn't make me a monster," I said firmly. "Magic is a tool, it's only as good or as bad as what you choose to do with it. You use it too," I nodded downward. "You don't seem to have a problem with plastering charms and spells all over your basement walls down there."

Dean was frowning at me, but I thought Bobby smiled just a little. "Basically, you're sayin' magic don't kill people, people kill people," the older man said with a wry lift of one shaggy brow.

"Monsters kill people," Dean muttered, but it was more stubborn than acrimonious. He reached into the potato chip bag on the table, then paused. His gaze flicking to Trent, he reached down and deliberately knocked over the salt shaker sitting next to the elf's elbow, spilling some of the little white granules onto the tabletop before retreating with his chips.

Sam shot his brother a look, like he'd done something a little rude and possibly childish.

I frowned, not getting what that was all about and trying not to lose my train of thought. "Yeah, well, we don't kill people. We weren't even killing the ghouls, well, not with magic anyway, we just wanted to scare them and buy time - and it worked," I added, folding my arms stubbornly across my chest.

Dean and Sam were both eyeing Trent as he politely righted the salt shaker and swept the spilt contents into his palm, depositing the small dusting of salt tidily onto one corner of his plate.

"Not feeling any need to count that, are you?" Dean asked, making Trent and I both stare at him. "The spilled salt?" He nodded to indicate his meaning.

"Why on earth would I do that?" Trent asked, looking at the other man like the hunter might possibly be brain damaged and we were only now realizing it.

Sam said "Huh," in kind of a speculative tone, but neither of them answered the question. I got a feeling we were forging into one of those areas where our worlds differed. Did that mean that some types of inderlanders in this world - probably the ones they classed as fairies - actually felt compelled to do something like count spilled salt crystals? Talk about weird!

"So how'd you get here, anyway?" Bobby asked, his gaze and his words directed towards Trent. "Someone summon you and not send you back?"

Trent's brows furrowed and he shot me a glance, indicating we were thinking the same thing. That question at least made sense to us ... but only if we had been talking about a demon.

"I'm not part of the collective," Trent said slowly, choosing his words with care. "I can't be summoned."

The answer did not seem at all enlightening to the three hunters, who looked at one another without comprehension. "Collective?" Dean asked.

I didn't want to have to explain about the demon collective, especially since for all we knew there wasn't one in this world anyway.

"There wasn't any summoning involved, it's more like we were ... exiled here," I said instead. "You remember what I told you about his ex?" I sighed. "That wasn't a lie. Trent's from an important family with a lot of political power in the elf world. So was the woman he was engaged to before things, um, didn't quite work out."

Trent shot me an amused look at the way I was telling the story. "You mean, before you interrupted our wedding and dragged me off." He didn't mention that I'd actually been arresting him on charges of kidnapping and murder.

I scowled at him. "You didn't seem terribly broken up about it," I muttered, my cheeks feeling just a little hot. Good grief, they did not need to know all this.

"No, I wasn't," Trent admitted, partially to me and partially to our audience. "It was a political affair from start to finish. The only good thing to come out of my brief association with Ellasbeth was my daughter, Lucy."

Trent reached into his pocket and pulled something out. I recognized it as the car keys he'd saved from his previous set of pants the other night. He turned the object over in his hand and I realized that it wasn't the keys Trent had been hanging onto, it was the keychain. It was one of those keepsake affairs that held a photograph.

Trent turned the small silver and plastic picture frame towards the hunters and when Sam reached for it, Trent allowed him to take it for a better look. I knew at a glance who was in the picture.

"Those are my children, Lucy and her younger sister Ray," Trent said quietly as Sam passed the photo over to Dean and Bobby. The girls' adorable little pointed ears were probably quite visible in the picture, but that didn't appear to change the faint softening of the hunters' expressions and body language when they looked at the photograph. I could tell they did not look at the two beautiful baby girls and see them as merely inhuman infant monsters. They could look at them and see them as innocents. I think that as much as anything told me that whatever else they were and whatever prejudices they may have, these people were not like Eloy or HAPA.

I shot a sidelong glance at Trent, realizing he was showing them the photo and bringing his daughters into this for a reason. He wanted the hunters to see us as people. I think it was working, too.

"Ellasbeth didn't want to share custody," Trent said quietly. "She was talked into working with those who oppose me because I support tolerance between races and would see us build bridges instead of burn them. Rachel and I were betrayed. They took my daughter and tried to kill us." There was a glitter of darkness in Trent's eyes at those words. "We escaped, but barely. That is how we ended up in the woods where we met you. I guess you could say we were ... thrown there, by the failed assassination attempt."

"The failed, magical assassination attempt?" Sam asked as if trying to fit the pieces together.

Trent inclined his head. "Yes. Although they had no issue using physical means as well." He reached over to me. I frowned at him when he took my arm, but I didn't pull away. Trent pushed the cuff of the too-big shirt I was wearing up my forearm, exposing the bruises and healing scabs that still circled my wrist from where I'd fought against the cuffs binding us a few days prior. I'd almost forgotten them in my litany of other aches and pains.

"They tried to kill Rachel in a most horrible manner, simply because she was important to me and not an elf," he said quietly and I looked at him with furrowed brows. Was he just acting? The shadow of guilt and anger in his green eyes was very convincing, as was the very gentle touch of his thumb on the abused skin of my wrist. He had to be acting though, because it didn't make sense for him to feel guilty on my account. It was what I was that had started the whole problem in the first place, even if he was wisely omitting that detail.

"Nice. They sound like lovely people," Dean said tightly, but this time his derision wasn't aimed at us. He held the keychain out to return it. I was closest to him so I took it, using the excuse to pull my arm away from Trent's curiously warm touch. I turned the frame to get a look at the photo. The picture was recent and obviously taken in a professional studio. The two girls were wearing matching velvet dresses in different colors. Lucy was in blue, Ray in yellow; both wore white tights and shiny little black button-up boots with pearl buttons. The sisters sat together on a white fur rug, holding hands and beaming at the camera. The keychain was not one of those cheap plastic ones you got at gift stores. It was heavy, glossy and framed in what was probably real silver. I turned it over and found there was an inscription engraved on the back. "For Daddy, love Lucy" it read. I smiled, my thumb brushing over the words. This must have been a Solstice gift, although no doubt Quen had helped the child pick it out. He probably had a matching one that said "For Abba".

I handed the keychain back to Trent and he took it, a look of love and devotion flittering across his face as he gazed down at it before tucking it back into his pocket. That part, I knew, wasn't an act for anyone's benefit. Trent's love of his children was very real, very honest, and very apparent to anyone who bothered to notice.

"All I want to do is get back to them," he said quietly, fixing the Winchester brothers with an earnest look. "Those who tried to kill us have my children and I must get them back. Ellasbeth is a fool, she will let Lucy be used by people who care nothing for her as a child and care only about the power that possessing her can give them, and I fear for Ray because she is politically important to no one. She is not Ellasbeth's child and Ellasbeth doesn't even like her." Trent's voice was hard with worry and I shot a startled look in his direction.

I'd assumed Lucy was safe enough with her mother at least in the short term and I knew Quen would move heaven and earth to protect Ray, but Trent was right. Given what had happened to us, we couldn't know whether or not Quen was in any position to protect either of the girls and I didn't like to think about what that could mean for Ray. Ellasbeth wasn't exactly the mothering or nurturing type. No wonder Trent was so desperate to get home.

"Okay, so I'm guessing you can't just buy a bus ticket or snap your fingers and go back home or you would have already." Dean had finished his food and was leaning on the stove, watching us. I was surprised to notice that something had changed in his eyes. He was still wary, but he looked pissed off now too - pissed off on our behalf. The idea of a family split up and in danger seemed to be strongly triggering his protective instincts.

We shook our heads and Dean clapped his hands. "Right. Of course not, it's never that easy. Bobby, there any lore you've come across about how to get people back into Avalon if they've been shut out?"

Bobby scratched his chin. "Short of somebody from that side snagging them? We could try the banishing rite from the book you and Sam brought back from Indiana, but as I understand it that just reverses a summoning. Since they weren't summoned there's no guarantees, and I can't imagine it would work on her anyhow if she's not a fairy," he nodded at me.

This was all moving a little fast now and I held up my hands in confusion, trying to catch up. "Whoa, wait ... what? What's Avalon?"

Dean and Sam looked at me like I was retarded. "The other dimension where all the fairies live ... it's where you're trying to get to, isn't it?" Sam asked in mild confusion and maybe just a hint of suspicion.

Other dimension? Was it possible they were aware of the whole alternate realities thing but called it by a different name? I frowned, trying to figure out if we were talking about different things or just running into an issue of terms again. "Um ... " I said slowly, looking at Trent for help but he just shrugged, apparently as uncertain as I was. "We don't call it that, but ... maybe?"

Bobby dusted his hands on his jeans. "Places like that tend to gather names like dead fruit gathers flies. We can go through some of my books, see if you folks recognize anything. Maybe come up with a few ideas on how to get you back to wherever it is you belong." He shot a questioning look towards the brothers as he made the offer, as if asking whether they were sure this was a good idea. Dean gave him a very small nod.

I was more than a little surprised and relieved to realize that these men actually seemed as if they wanted to help us, even if it was pretty clear that none of them really trustedus. Maybe the idea of getting us out of their world and back to where ever it was we belonged solved their quandary on what to do with us, but the fact that simply killing us wasn't an easier solution to that problem was encouraging.

"Give me a few minutes to find the right books, I might have to pick up a few. I'm a little light on fairy lore," Bobby muttered, mostly to himself I thought, as he exited the kitchen.

We'd all more or less finished eating by now. Sam started cleaning up the table and I rose to help. It was much too awkward to just keep sitting there with nothing to do. For me, anyway. Trent seemed fine with it.

Wanting to keep myself busy, I started washing up the dishes in the sink. Most of them were glasses. Most of them smelled like whisky and bourbon. Either the hunters had had a party, or Bobby was drinking more meals than he ate. My money was on the later and I frowned a little. I wasn't getting the impression that any of these men had very happy lives and I wondered about the kind of people who chose to continue doing what they did for as long as they obviously had.

Silently, I pulled up my second sight and glanced over towards the two Winchester brothers while I dried the glasses with a dish towel. A person's aura didn't necessarily tell you a whole lot about them, but it could be indicative, and anyway, I was curious. I figured the open window over the sink would offer explanation enough if anyone noticed the way my second sight made the ends of my hair float.

Dean's aura was white, shot through with deep crimson streaks of pain and guilt and silver sparkles of purpose. Sam's aura was gold, like mine and Trent's. I was surprised to see that also like mine, it was tainted with oily smudges of black imbalance, indicating that at some point he must have used strong magic that broke the rules of nature. Demon curses and black magic were the only things I knew of that caused smut like that on someone's aura and I found it an unexpected discovery, given the hunters' attitudes towards the supernatural. However, I was certainly in the best position of just about anyone to know that twisting demon magic didn't make you evil or mean that your actions had been wrong.

The black on Sam's aura may not worry me too much, but something else did. His aura seemed unnaturally, almost alarmingly thin for some reason. I'd never seen anything quite like that. My brows pinched in concern but it wasn't as if I could ask them about it, so I reluctantly turned away. My gaze drifted to Trent and I immediately frowned again. There was something off about his aura too. It wasn't thin like Sam's, but it was dimmer than usual, as if the cost that had been extracted from him had literally drained some of the life out of him. I didn't like that at all. Damaged auras could heal, but we really needed to avoid any further magic use.

Trent caught me looking and I quickly dropped my second sight. He frowned at me, but didn't say anything. A few moments later, Bobby came out of the other room, his motions swift and his rifle under his arm again.

"Perimeter's been tripped," he told the Winchesters in response to their inquiring looks. "There's some folks skulking about out there, watching the place and I don't think they're lookin' to steal car parts."

"You two stay put," Dean said over his shoulder to Trent and I as the brothers followed Bobby out the door, presumably to go check things out.

I followed them to the front door and looked outside, taking in our surroundings curiously. The house we were in was sitting in the middle of what looked like a junkyard. We were surrounded by stacks of auto parts and vehicles in various states of repair or disrepair. I was tempted to disregard the injunction and follow them to see what was happening, but if I went, Trent would probably go too and it really was a better idea to keep him away from any further risk of strain right now.

I felt Trent at my shoulder, gazing past me out the door and also taking in our surroundings. "Well, that could have gone worse," I said to him as I left the door and moved back through the kitchen. Trent had paused in the entry, studying a peg board that held multiple sets of keys, probably to the autos outside that still actually ran.

I frowned at him, guessing at his thoughts. "Don't even think about it. We take off and they'll assume the worst," I told him firmly, hands going to my hips. "Right now they want to help us. You said yourself, they're the experts on this world and how its magic works. They might be our best chance of getting home."

Trent gave a graceful little shrug and moved back to join me. "Perhaps. Although if I didn't know otherwise, I'd think they were confidence men," he said with a wry expression, nodding to a bank of battered phones that hung along one wall. Homemade masking tape labels applied helpful identifiers to the individual lines. Labels like "F.B.I", "Police", "C.D.C" and "Fed Marshal" complete with a different, probably fake, man's name scrawled beneath each left me with little doubt as to why Trent said that. This was clearly home base for someone who pretended to be multiple other people and needed to keep the identities straight.

"I think they kind of are," I agreed, putting aside the dish towel I'd still been holding and taking the opportunity to look around a little. "Probably makes the whole hunting thing easier." I still wasn't sure I was completely okay with the idea of what these men did - or at least, my impression of it - but they seemed willing to give us the benefit of the doubt for the time being and I would do the same.

I moved from the kitchen into the adjoining room. It was clearly a library and was filled to the brim with books and what looked at first glance like eccentric bric-a-brac. A large desk took up one end of the space and an ancient TV was nestled in the corner, buried under the same avalanche of texts and tomes as pretty much every other horizontal surface.

The air held the distinct, musty smell of old books, laced with a riot of other fainter scents including camphor, rosewood and sage. I moved further into the room and turned in a slow circle as I looked around. I quickly realized that what first appeared to be knickknacks and curiosities jammed here and there amid the books were in fact various ancient artifacts and spelling ingredients. I recognized things like Rams horn and dried holly swatches and there were other elements I couldn't identify.

The room smelled like a spelling kitchen and looked like Al's library might if you turned it sideways and shook all the books around a bit - and if his collection had included things like Field and Stream magazines from bygone decades and about a zillion texts on world history and mythology.

"Huh," I breathed thoughtfully, letting my fingers trail across some of the more ancient books stacked on the edges of the large desk, their place of importance indicating they had probably been the most recently used. One of the books lay open, revealing an old, hand-written tome with what looked like a knight stabbing some hairy creature with a spear. The faded latin text beside it was clearly instructions on how to make a ward against the beast in the picture.

"Trent?" I called softly over my shoulder as I turned a few pages in the open book. I started slightly when something moved to my left, then realized it was only Trent who had apparently already followed me into the room without my noticing. I gave him an annoyed look for startling me, then tapped the book under my fingers. "These are spells," I said quietly.

I wasn't sure what to make of this room. It was an incredibly eclectic sort of collection. It struck me like a witches' library, but given how Sam and Dean clearly felt about witches and how genuinely friendly they were with Mr. Singer, I didn't think there was any way he was one. A wizard, maybe, a human practicing magic, if that was a distinction they made or that mattered in this world. There was also that black on Sam's aura to consider. These people seemed full of fascinating and confusing contradictions.

"This is very ... interesting, all things considered," Trent's said, reaching over and flipping through the book himself when I moved away from it. Apparently, his thoughts more or less mirrored my own.

I felt a funny, dark, familiar tingle and my attention was immediately drawn to a small, untitled book that lay partially hidden beneath several others. I reached out to touch it and felt the faintest crackle dark magic when my fingers brushed it's spine. I instinctively pulled my fingers back, then, pulse starting to speed up I quickly grasped the book and pulled it out.

The book looked ancient and worn. If it had ever had any kind of markings on its cover or spine, they were long gone. The cover and the hand-sewn pages inside felt like leather, but I knew they weren't. This was a demon book, I could feel the black, discordant tang of it resonating in my hands. It didn't feel exactly the same as I was used to, but the taint of evil was clear. Like more than a few of Al's books, it was written on human skin. That was absolutely revolting, but I wasn't nearly as squeamish about it now as I had been the first time I'd held such a book.

I frowned as I scanned the pages. It was written in that really, really old Latin used by a lot of ancient tomes like this. I could manage it, but it wasn't easy. I'd been working on learning for a while now. It was one of the many things I did in my weekly lessons with Al, who had gotten tired of translating and re-writing things for me pretty quickly. He could have read this like a grade-school primer, but it was going to be quite a while before I got that fluent. Fortunately, I was much better at it than I had been in the beginning and much better at it then I let Al believe. Al had a habit of teaching me enough so I could accomplish what he wanted me to learn while holding back anything he thought it was better for him that I not know just yet. I'd gotten used to that and let him think I didn't know what he was doing. It was just Al's way of making sure I continued to need him. I sighed, more than a little surprised at the thread of melancholy edging my thoughts. I actually missed Al. Go figure.

I still had to work very carefully when translating a curse to make sure I didn't screw it up, but all I was doing now was scanning to get the idea of the book's contents, so I just jumped between the phrases I knew or could parse out easiest. My interest quickly grew and I felt my pulse beginning to pick up even more. This book was about opening a gateway. A gateways between realms. At least, I thought so. Trying to keep a handle on the wild hope and excitement lighting within me I tried to force myself to slow down and translate a little more carefully, to make sure I was getting the meanings right.

The book seemed focused on one particular realm. I didn't get a lot of it, but it sounded like some place that was inhabited solely by a certain set of inderlanders. Vampires, weres, shifters and other species I either wasn't familiar with or wasn't translating correctly. What the hell was a leviathan? Sounded like something out of the Bible. The verb conjugations and tenses were kicking my butt and I frowned. I must be reading it wrong, because one minute it was talking about the inhabitants of that place like they were all dead, and the next it wasn't.

"Mother of All ... didn't Sam say something like that in the woods, and again a few minutes ago?" Trent's voice by my ear made me jerk. I realized he was standing directly behind me, reading over my shoulder. I'd been so engrossed in the book I hadn't noticed.

"Stop doing that!" I growled, pissed that it was the second time in less than five minutes that he'd caught me unawares. Then I froze, realizing Trent had spoken a phrase that had been on the page I was just reading.

"Wait, you can read this?" The page was talking about an obviously revered mother figure. I hadn't been sure if it was talking about an actual historical being from the time when it was written, or a mythological deity that was part of this other realm's culture. Now that Trent mentioned the correlation in terms, I began to suspect that maybe the being in question was both real, and still alive. If so, then she was the one the Winchesters were holding responsible for stirring up all that trouble they'd mentioned. That was probably why the hunters had this book to begin with.

I looked over my shoulder at Trent and he shrugged, giving an embarrassed little grimace. "Not really, just a little here and there. I'm much better with ancient Elven. Can you?"

I nodded slowly. "Mostly. I need to work it more carefully, but ... Trent, this is talking about opening a doorway into another dimension ... or place, or whatever," I gestured dismissively at my uncertainty of the exact details. "It's mostly talking about just this one place, but maybe it's something I can adapt."

Trent leaned closer, immediately interested. His body pressed up against my back as he looked over my shoulder at the book, his breath warm as it brushed my cheek and collarbone. "Really? What does it say you need? Is this magic you can do?"

"Um..." I swallowed, trying to focus around the sensation of Trent's strong frame molded against my body and his hands resting on my shoulders. "Not sure yet, there's a lot of information here and a lot of historical stuff. It reads like some kind of instruction manual though, so they've got to have the actual spell in here somewhere and yeah, I think I can ..." The excitement was bubbling in my blood again. I knew I should be careful about getting my hopes up so easily, but I couldn't help it.

"Really? You two have any spare virgins lying around you feel like sacrificing?" Dean's slow, sardonic drawl made both Trent and I spin around quickly.

Dean was standing in the kitchen doorway, one shoulder leaning against the frame. Sam stood a few feet behind him. The older Winchester's arms were folded and he might have looked casual lounging against the doorframe like that, but the wary, ready tenseness in his body said otherwise.

"Virgins?" I repeated in confusion, feeling strangely flustered and defensive under the cool accusation painted in Dean's stormy and annoyingly attractive green eyes. The heightened suspicion levels being displayed said that something had clearly changed in the last few minutes, and not for the better.

"Yeah, virgins," Dean replied in that easy tone of his, with that easy, charming smile that should have seemed friendly, except right now it wasn't. "Pretty sure it's in the recipe there somewhere," he nodded at the book still in my hands. "You know, add one live virgin, mix until dead ... something like that. Not sure about my translation - you're the one that can apparently read demon, but word has it that's how you open up that doorway you were just talking about. So, you gonna run down to the quick-mart and grab one? Cause I doubt you qualify." As if to make sure his meaning wouldn't be missed, he tilted his head in a boyishly suggestive manner that somehow reminded me of Jenks.

Heat flooded my face and I snapped the book shut in my hand, my jaw clenching. "Oh. My. God. What is wrong with you? You couldn't be more of an ass if you tried!"

Dean's grin cocky grin widened. "Sure I could!" he assured me. "Isn't that right, Sam?"

Behind him, his brother shot him a look and rolled his eyes. "Yes, Dean," he said in an overly patient tone. "You can be the world's biggest ass when you try."

Dean's wary attention had never left Trent and me and he now lifted his eyebrows as if vindicated. "See?"

I wanted to laugh. The man had just accused me of wanting to sacrifice human beings, half-way implied I was a slut - and I wanted to laugh. What was wrong with me? Of course, I also wanted to kick his butt, which was a slightly more normal, if probably ill-advised, response.

"I stand corrected," I returned sarcastically, one hand resting on my hip as I carefully laid the book back down on the desk. The hunters obviously knew a little about black magic and what kind of book this was. My being able to read it or work magic out of it wasn't winning me any points. Terrific. I was so sick of people just assuming I was a black witch - an irritating misassumption clearly not unique to either of our worlds.

"Rachel, why would you want to open purgatory?" Sam asked in that reasonable I want to understand you tone of his that hid danger just as certainly as Dean's snarky wit.

"Purgatory?" I stared at him in surprise and threw up my free hand. "What?! I don't! Give me a break, I only just glanced at the darn thing, I don't know what it says yet. And I sure as hell am not going to be sacrificing anybody, virgin or not! Geez, that's just disgusting!" I shook my head. "Hello? We're trying to get home, remember? I thought maybe it was something I could adapt." Although if it required human sacrifice ... probably not. I felt my hope deflate and it made me extra cranky.

"You were the ones who suggested we look through your books, remember?" I accused. Okay, so maybe they hadn't meant for us to snoop through their library un-chaperoned,but that was their fault for leaving us alone then. They hadn't said we couldn't after all.

I thought they relaxed just a little at that. I wasn't sure if they believed me, but I think they wanted to. For my part, I was not liking the constantly shifting sand we seemed to be on with them. "So, you find your prowlers or what?" I asked sourly.

"Yeah, actually," Sam said slowly. "That's why we were looking for you. We caught one of them and ... I think you'd better come." He nodded towards the hall and moved off in that direction.

Dean stayed put until Trent and I slowly followed Sam out of the room. He took up the rear, sandwiching us between them as we made our way back towards the basement stairs we'd ascended not long before. I had a curiously bad feeling about this. I looked over at Trent, but he had his unreadable face on.

Halfway down the basement stairs I heard a scream and I froze, heart jumping up into my throat. I smelled blood and ozone. Dean's presence crowding in behind me forced me to keep moving. When we reached the basement, I saw that Bobby was already down here. So was someone else. A middle-aged woman with short blonde hair sat tied to a chair that was placed in the center of the pentagram design on the floor.

One side of her face was wet and steaming, her flesh sizzling as if she'd been splashed with acid. The woman growled, hissing in anger and discomfort and her eyes ... her eyes were black. Not black like Newt and Al's eyes; this blackness encompassed even the whites of her eyes, leaving nothing but disturbing dark voids between her eyelids. She smelled like blood, smoke and sulfur. I felt the crackle of magic in the room. It churned and seethed as if the power were being restrained against its will as surely as the woman was. My gaze shot to the pentagram ward under the chair and I finally understood what that particular device was suppose to do.

The sensation of the woman's power prickled against my skin and despite the fact that her scent was completely wrong, I felt a sudden surety that we were getting our first look at this world's version of a demon. If I'd had any doubts, they were put to rest a moment later when Sam confirmed it.

"This isn't what it looks like ... that's a demon, it's only possessing that woman's body; against her will," the younger Winchester seemed compelled to explain when he saw the way Trent and I had both stiffened up at the sight of the captive woman.

"There were a couple others with her, but they scrammed," Dean put in, looking troubled by this.

"This one says they're here because of you two," Bobby said, fixing Trent and I with a questioning look from under the brim of his cap. "You got some ideas on why you got demons followin' ya?"

"Us?" I was honestly shocked by this. "No, none. Why would they care about us?" It was the truth. At home I'd have plenty of ideas on the subject, but not here.

The demon in the chair laughed. She'd apparently gotten over her previous hissy fit and was now lounging in the seat with a diffident sneer that looked out of place on her mid-western-housewife features. "Oh sweetie, don't sell yourself short." Her gaze ran appraisingly across both Trent and I before fixing in on me with a disturbing level of interest.

"Most of the witches we've met got their abilities by dealing with demons. Demons that have a tendency to want to claim them after a while. You sure there isn't something you want to tell us?" Dean asked, fixing me with a level look. "Like maybe Trent's crazy ex isn't the only thing you're running from?"

The upped suspicion levels suddenly made sense. I started to shake my head, but Dean held up a hand to halt me. "Rachel, we won't let them take you," he promised. "But we need to know what to expect."

"Thanks, but I'm telling you the truth. I don't know her and I don't owe her anything. I learned my magic from books." Mostly. If they weren't aware of witches as an actual separate species, then that wasn't something I wanted to get into.

"Okay." Dean gave me a small nod and a one-shouldered shrug. He turned his attention back to the demon and the older hunter. "Guess we need some answers from her then."

"What are you after? Who sent you?" Bobby was holding a flask, he splashed a little clear liquid on the demon and her skin steamed and sizzled again. She grit her teeth and hissed, but her intent, eerie eyes remained fixed on me. She rolled her neck in an unnaturally languid motion and glared at the hunters.

"Relax, will you?" she purred with biting disdain, her attention only briefly shifting to Bobby. When she answered, it was to me. "We were just taking a little look-see. Word was that the Winchesters had a couple of new playmates who made quite an interesting splash in Cincinnati. We just wanted to take a peek and see what they were up to, but now that I see you ... mmm, yes, very interesting, you are. What a fascinating... witch?" She rolled the last words suggestively, her eyes traveling up and down my body as if she could see something other than my worn jeans and ill-fitting shirt. Very likely, she could. My blood ran suddenly cold.

"Who sent you?" Bobby repeated, but the woman ignored him, continuing to stare at me.

The demon shook her head, a cruel little smile playing across her lips as if she could read my apprehension. "You know, you should come with us, sister," she purred. "Our kind doesn't last long with the Winchesters."

Everyone in the room stiffened at her words and the chill in my gut turned to a twist of fury and frustration as I sensed the inevitable train-wreck this was about to become.

The demon grinned, showing her teeth when she took in the hunters' reactions. "Oh, darlings ... didn't you know?" she said in a mockingly apologetic and conciliatory tone. Her gaze flittered to the Winchesters before returning to me. "Your new friend here is a demon."

Crap on toast.