Bobby's fireplace now crackled loudly, three fresh logs burning bright. Caroline sat near to it, a blanket over her shoulders and a mug of tea in her hands.

"Pins in his head?" Bobby asked incredulously. The girl nodded faintly. "I think you just fell asleep watching Hellraiser."

The girl shook her head, confused. "Hell what? I don't like horror movies."

The old hunter raised a brow, looking to his desk where the phone sat. "Right… Well this just got nine kinds of crazy." He gave a warming smile to the girl, "Just sit tight Caroline, I'm gonna make a phone call, set two of my best boys to help."

"The Winchesters?"

Bobby's eyes widened a hair in surprise. "Heard of them, have you?"

She nodded. "That freak—that… demon. It told me to find them. It wants me to bring them too it, but I don't want to help a demon. I'm a Christian." The woman took a sip from her mug. "I went to the church, thought they could help. Pastor Jeffries told me that demons were just metaphors, that they couldn't actually hurt me." She gave a small sniffle. "But he didn't dream what I did, he didn't feel them chains…

A lady that was there prayin', Ruth, said that you'd know a lot about demons, and that you know the Winchester boys." She looked from the fire up to Bobby. "Do you know how to stop demons?"

Bobby nodded, though his suspicion still remained. "This Ruth gal; was she a blonde?"

Carol shook her head. "No, she had black hair. Kind of wavy-like."

The hunter nodded. "Right. Lemme make that call, you just warm up by the fire there." He picked the phone up from his desk, stepping into the kitchen as he dialed Dean's cell.

"Everything good, Bobby?" Dean answered, concern barely masked in his voice.

"Oh, just peachy." Bobby replied, sarcastically. "That case Sam says I gave you, she just walked in my door."

There was a long pause before Dean spoke, his voice low with muted anger. "What?"

Bobby peeked into the study. "Caroline Merchant, Sam's 'friend'. She showed up at my door, asking for you two. Gave me the same story about Pinhead, too."

"So what the hell? You think Sam's working with Ruby still?"

Bobby shook his head, "No, Dean. We ain't seen hide nor hair of her since… well since you—y'know."

"I got it, Bobby. Thanks."

Bobby shrugged. "Maybe it was one of Sam's visions. I know he hasn't exactly been John Edwards recently, but he's still got demon blood in him. Might be he's got a knack for premonitions still."

"Yeah maybe. I'll keep an eye on him, you just try to find out as much as you can from Kirsty about our demon superstar."

Bobby grimaced as Dean hung up, heading back into his study. Caroline had fallen asleep on the couch, the empty cup of tea set on the coffee table. He sat down at his desk, poured himself another mug of scotch, and began to pour through his resources.

Dean turned to the door as Sam walked in, carrying a shopping bag. "Hey, thought you might be up. I couldn't sleep—got you pie, though." He sat down at the dining table, pulling out his laptop and opening a berry cup from the groceries.

His older brother eyed him suspiciously, walking slowly to the table. "Yeah, couldn't sleep either. In fact, Bobby woke me up, gave me a call just to check in."

"Oh yeah?" Sam hardly looked up from his screen. "Was he able to get us any more info on this thing?"

Dean leaned on one of the chairs, his brow furrowed. "You could say that. Your 'friend', Caroline Merchant… She showed up at Bobby's door."

Sam gave a small grin. "Yeah Dean. I kind of told you that yesterday."

"She showed up tonight. Not an hour ago." When Sam didn't answer, Dean pressed. "So who is she—really? Is she Ruby? Is that what this—"

"She's not Ruby, Dean." Sam said firmly, cutting his brother off. "I haven't seen Ruby since you died." He sighed, shutting his laptop and looking past Dean. "I don't know who Caroline is, not exactly. Last night I just… dreamed that she came to Bobby. I wasn't sure if it was a vision or not, but I figured it'd be worth looking into."

Dean pushed off from the chair. "Frickin' great. And you didn't think to mention that you're having psychic visions again? That can't be a coincidence Sam; I pop up from Hell and you start going all Miss Cleo."

Sam gave a defensive look. "I didn't mention it, Dean, because I knew you'd react like this. It was only the dream - or vision. I didn't have any nosebleeds, no pain, just what was going to happen."

Dean remained unconvinced. "Oh, no, but that's still great. We're staring down the Apocalypse, we're seeing dead people we know, and now you're getting a play-by-play of game plans – demon game plans.

Sam gave a small shrug. "Maybe that's a good thing, Dean. Who knows, maybe that Castiel was showing it to me so that we could do something about it; stop a problem before it gets any worse."

Dean threw up his hands. "Whatever, fine. So we've got a Doug Bradley impersonating demon and the girl with the demon dreams."

"About her," Sam opened his laptop back up, "something about her name sounded familiar. Did you ever watch Hellraiser: Bloodline?"

Dean scoffed, sitting down at the table and opening the box of pie. "Hell no. Those movies sucked after the second one."

His brother gave a small chuckle. "Well, one of the characters in it was named Paul Merchant, a descendant of Philip Lemarchand, the Frenchman who invented the box that Pinhead came through."

"What's your pleasure, sir?" Dean quoted sarcastically as he shoveled a piece of pie into his mouth. "So she's got the same name, so what? We're not related to Charles Winchester."

"Well, no. But don't you think it's a little bit odd that she's being terrorized by a demon playing at Pinhead, and she's got the last name of a character from the movies?"

Dean shrugged, licking cherry syrup off his fork. "Demon's got a sense of humor, I guess. A twisted one, but that's demons."

His cellphone buzzed on the table, a rock solo cutting through their conversation. Dean tossed his fork into the empty pie box, answering the phone and putting it to speaker. "What'cha got, Bobby?" He set the phone on the table.

"Not much," Bobby answered, "just a few pages from the journal of a hunter. He was real big in the 70's over in London, cleared out a den of werewolves."

"Sounds impressive, Bobby," Sam said, his brow furrowed in confusion, "but we're not really after werewolves here."

"That's the thing, Sam," Bobby said, "This hunter specialized in demonology. His name is Andrew Kent, but you probably know him better as Clive Barker."