When the Cradle Falls

Chapter Thirty-One: Last Will and Testament

Crackling flames drew back the shadows, creating strange, dancing patterns of light across the faces of two grieving brothers. Their eyes blinking against the heat of the fire, Sam and Dean stood side by side, watching silently as the destructive force licked away at the rotting body of John Winchester. The body had been wrapped in a white linen and placed on a wooden pyre Bobby had erected as the boys drove up.

Once the brothers reached the isolated house in the middle of the night, Bobby poured gasoline over the body and pyre, then lit a lighter, gently tossing it into the wood. The pyre caught immediately, and Bobby stood with the boys, watching as the fire grew larger and larger. And once John's body was finally engulfed in flames, Bobby stepped back from the boys. "I'll give you two some time. Be inside if you need me."

The older man retreated to the house, and left the brothers in silence, where they were now.

Turning to his older brother, Sam watched as Dean stared intently into the flames. "Before he...before...did he say anything to you? About anything?"

Only his mouth moving, Dean didn't look away from the fire. "No. Nothing."

It was the next morning that Sam woke up to the sound of metal hitting metal. Sitting up in bed, he saw the sun was barely up. Wiping the ashes from his eyes, he felt his heart pitch at the smell of smoke that still lingered around the room.

Still intrigued by the sound of metal, Sam peered out the window, down into the salvage yard. He saw the Impala's gleaming, warped metal reflecting the early morning light. Underneath the car, he saw a pair of jean clad legs. Dean was tinkering away at the underside of the Impala, and Sam wondered how long they'd been out there, as it had barely been five hours since they said goodbye to their father.

Down in the yard, Dean allowed the sounds around him to drown out the tsunami of emotions and thoughts swirling through his head. He knew he needed to get back to Alice, but John's ashes were still burning with embers. Feeling like he was being pulled in two different directions, Dean didn't know what to do.

So instead, he worked on his car.

"How's the car coming along?" The voice was muffled by the underside of the car, but Dean pulled the wrench away and huffed. He knew Sammy was gonna try and pull some Dr. Phil crap on him, and Dean contemplated pretending like he didn't hear him.

"Slow," Dean responded gruffly, resuming his work.

"Yeah? Need any help?" Dean rolled his eyes.

"What, you under a hood? I think I'll pass." He tried to keep his voice light, but it was hard to keep the irritation out, knowing Sam's trivial conversation was just a way to catch Dean off guard.

"Need anything else, then?"

Dropping the tool, Dean pushed himself out from under the car and stood, wiping grease and dust off his pants and hands. "Stop it, Sam."

Looking startled, Sam asked Dean what he meant.

"Stop asking if I need anything. Stop asking if I'm okay. Really I'm okay. I promise."

"Dean, we barely burned our dad's body even a day ago. And before that, your two kids were in the hospital. Alice is shaken up. And her aunt's dead. We've barely had any time to process what's happened to us, especially you. And now, you're out here working on the car. Did you even sleep at all last night?"

"I'm fine, Sam."

"Dean-"

"I'm gonna go back to Alice's tomorrow," Dean said suddenly. "She has some things to take care of and doesn't want the kids alone."

"The Impala?" Sam asked, deflating. He knew he'd lost his window of opportunity. Dean was shutting down and there was no way he would talk about anything important now.

"Like I said, it's coming along slow. Bobby'll have another car I can take. Or I'll just jack one."

"How are they doing?" Sam asked.

Dean shrugged, and glanced down at the Impala. "They're tough. They'll be fine. I'm gonna shower."

Sam watched as Dean walked away, noticing how quickly his tune had changed since Cara and Noah were in the hospital. Dean had barely been able to hold himself together, wondering if his kids were ever going to be whole again. And now, here he was telling Sam the children just had to dust themselves off and then they'd be as good as new.

With a sigh, the younger brother kicked a nearby tool in frustration.

The list of things that were wrong just kept growing. Dad was dead, the demon and Colt were gone. His niece and nephew had been possessed and broken by demons. And now Dean was closing himself off, leaving Sam scrambling.

The next morning, like before, the sun was barely up when Sam was awoken by the sound of muffled rock music. Rolling to a side, he opened one eye and watched Dean collecting his things, shoving them into his bag. The older brother didn't notice and continued to pack a there was a pair of headphones on his head, the iPod blasting heavy metal music into his ears at full volume.

Sighing in aggravation, Sam swung his legs over the bed and stood. He quietly moved across the floor and stood a few feet behind Dean. With crossed arms, Sam stared at his brother in irritation.

Dean, busy packing, and letting the music wash away any emotions he might have been feeling, turned around, coming face to face with his brother.

Entire body stiffening, the iPod disconnected from the headphones, clattering to the ground. And with no weapons located nearby, Dean grabbed the closest thing he could use to defend himself.

Smirking slightly, Sam shook his head at the pairs of socks Dean held over his head like he was about to sling a blackjack.

Once the scene had caught up with Dean's reflexes, he dropped his arm and took a breath. "What the hell, Sam?"

"What's the point of using headphones if I can still hear it from across the room?" Sam pointed out, as Dean pulled off the device, rolling up the cord.

Turning his back to his brother, Dean shoved the headphones in his bag. "Didn't realize it was that loud. Sorry if I woke you."

"Don't worry about it," the younger brother said fleetingly. Watching as Dean continued to backSam crossed his arms as and frowned at Dean's turned back. "So what? You were just gonna leave without saying goodbye?"

Dean's motions stopped, and his shoulders noticeably tensed. "Didn't want to wake you up."

Sam scoffed lightly. "Sure Dean. It's just...Look-Dad's been dead for days. You've barely spoken a word about him. You're acting like Cara and Noah are perfectly fine and you're shutting everyone out."

Trying to keep his face neutral, Dean didn't let his little brother know he was spot on. Instead, Dean composed his face into a sarcastic smirk. "You know what? You're right. Come here. I'm gonna lay my head gently on your shoulder. Maybe we can cry, hug, and maybe even slow dance." He let the shit eating grin spread across his face, even though it was almost painful.

Sensitive, the compassionate look dropped from Sam's face. So this was how Dean was going to deal. "Don't patronize me, Dean, Dad is dead. The Colt is gone, your kids are beyond traumatized, and it seems pretty damn likely that the demon is behind all of this, and you're acting like nothing happened!"

Feeling like a deflating balloon, Dean shrugged. "What do you want me to say?"

Say something, all right? Hell, say anything! Aren't you angry? Don't you want revenge? But all you do is sit out here all day long buried underneath this damn car."

"Revenge, huh?"

"Yeah," Sam responded flatly. At least he was being honest with himself.

Dean shrugged, like he was willing to listen. "Sounds good. You got any leads on where the demon is? Making heads or tails of any of Dad's research? Because I sure ain't. But you know, if we do finally find it-oh. No, wait, like you said. The Colt's gone. But I'm sure you've figured out another way to kill it. We've got nothing, Sam. Nothing. Okay? So you know the only thing I can do is go look after my damn kids." God knows he's been away long enough.

At a loss, Sam looked around the room as if he was going to find an answer there. "What about your car?" He asked, lamely.

Dean looked in the other direction as he spoke. "It'll still be there when I get back." He patted Sam's shoulder. "Call me if you make any sense with Dad's research."

And with the slam of a door, Sam felt like he had lost a father and a brother in one fell swoop.

Sitting on the rocking chair in the family room, Alice stared at the fireplace. Her hands were gripped tightly around the armrest of the chair. Her back barely touched the back of the chair. She hardly rocked, as her feet were planted on the floor, only allowing for the easy, natural back and forth of the chair to occur.

Her gaze remained steady. It was the morning, and both kids were still asleep. Still traumatized from being possessed by pure evil, that warranted a few sick days off from school.

But honestly? Alice never wanted them to be without protection again. She had proven herself to be quite useless when it came to protecting her kids, but that didn't mean she couldn't try to ward her house like Janet had done to hers. And rationally, Alice knew she could not be with her kids all the time, but right now, she didn't think of that.

She just stared at the fireplace.

It felt like she had been staring at one place for hours-it was surprisingly easy when she had a million ideas bouncing around in her mind. But while she was staring, it seemed like those ideas were trapped behind a very thin, glass wall. But still very thin.

That thin, glass wall had stood for hours, it seemed. But it only took a very gentle tap for the minute surface to break, causing all the ideas and memories to come flooding back to the forefront of Alice's brain.

There was the feel of soft flesh of the side of Alice's face, one that caused her to jerk to the side, in the opposite direction of the track of the rocking chair.

Coming back down to the gravity of carpet beneath her feet, Alice swung her head in the direction of the contact. Only a few feet away from her, on the sectional sofa, was Dean.

Frowning, Alice tried to contemplate his presence. He'd been gone less than seventy two hours, but it'd felt like a lifetime. "Dean," she said hollow voice. As she rose from the chair, it creaked hollowly, and she marvelled at how he had gotten in the house without her hearing him.

"I didn't hear you come in," she finally finished.

"I was quiet," he responded.

Alice frowned. He wasn't known for being quiet. He was always smiling and quite proud of his entrances. But this time? She hadn't heard him at all.

"How are you, Dean?" Alice asked softly, changing the subject of her mind. She stood from the chair, watching where he sat at the edge of the couch.

"I'm fine."

Watching as his eyes darted down, she severely doubted that. "You sure?"

"I'm fine," Dean repeated.

She knew his prized car was smashed and he had just burned his father. Alice turned her gaze to the fireplace, once again.

Dean followed her gaze. "You finally got the ashes?"

Nodding slowly, Alice stared at the silver urn sat atop the mantle. It was wedged between a picture of Cara and Noah, when they were a toddler and baby, respectively, and a picture of Alice and Dean when they were teenagers. Alice couldn't quite remember who had taken the latter picture.

The urn was engraved with Jan's full name, birthdate, and death date.

And Alice knew her aunt would've hated it.

"Yeah, I finally got them." She paused. "You must've left Bobby's early."

Dean shrugged noncommittally. He had left the crack of dawn, unable to shake off Sam's words. "I couldn't sleep."

Alice hadn't been able to sleep either. "How's your car?"

"I'll get her going soon enough."

Alice felt herself nodding along. Alice's head moved back and forth, the silver urn bobbing from the different edges of her vision.

They sat in silence for several minutes, the uneasy quietude pulling Dean out of the glass bubble he was in. His own existence bumped up against Alice's and he noticed the heaviness that hung around her like widow's mourning veil.

"She died a hero," Dean said, in a poor attempt to reassure her.

"She saved our children," Alice agreed. Her aunt had died a tragic death, but Alice knew it was never something Jan would've held against her.

But that wasn't what was bothering her.

"What do you think happened to her?"

Dean frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Like after death. I don't know what she believed in. She was raised Catholic, but knowing how devout my grandparents were, I doubted she believed in anything. But just because she didn't believe in anything doesn't mean there's anything after death. So doesn't that mean she can be in Hell-if there is a Hell-just because she didn't believe in a Hell?

"Or is she gonna come back as a vengeful spirit? Her death was bloody and violent and you said that was what it took for ghosts. We saw what happened with Amy Kindcaida. What if Jan comes back as something completely different?

"Or what if she just ceased to exist after death? What if-like that Norman Mailer book said-cremation really does atomize your soul? What if she's just gone, like she never was even here?"

"She was here," Dean said simply. He stood up and pulled Alice with him. He need to move. Because sitting there, her words her staring at him, a reflection of exactly what he was thinking. Only he knew his father was in Hell. And there was nothing he could do.

Dragging her to the kitchen, Dean sat her down on a stool. Opening the high cabinet over the fridge, Dean pulled out a mostly full bottle of SoCo. He personally hated the stuff, but it was good enough for now. He grabbed two coffee mugs and plopped the contents down on the counter.

Looking a bit disapproving, Alice glanced at the clock. "Don't you think it's a little early for-"

Ignoring her, he poured her a drink and slid it towards her. "I think it's understandable, Allie."

Relenting, Alice grabbed the drink and took a sip. She hadn't really had hard alcohol since the night in Devil's Lake, when she and Dean had gone on the hunt. Because of what had nearly happened that night, she'd tried to avoid it for awhile.

"Look, I know you probably have a million thoughts in your head, trying to make sense of shit that devastating and confusing all at the same time. But Allie, trust me: Janet Sutton, of all people, is probably on a white sand beach somewhere in the sky, drinking a Tequila Sunrise and getting a foot massage from a hot poolboy."

The speech was meant to be reassuring, and it was. Alice cracked a small smile into her drink. "Wow that's awfully specific, Dean. You've obviously put a lot of thought into that. Are you sure that's not your own fantasy of what happens after death?"

He smirked. "Nah. I wouldn't be caught dead drinking a Tequila Sunrise." He sobered up again. "I wish I had answers for you, but I don't."

"I know. But just thanks for being here, Dean," Alice said, softly.

She leaned across the counter and pulled him by the front of his shirt, catching in a kiss.

The sky was a muted gray. It hung like a hazy blanket over the land. Cold wind blew from the water to the beach, where a trio sat, staring out at the choppy, angry waves of Lake Michigan. Between the waves breaking along the sand and the howling of the wind, it was so easy for the barrage of thoughts in Dean's mind to be quieted.

Closing his eyes, Dean leaned his head back against the chair he was slumped in. Besides being in a coma after the crash, Dean couldn't remember the last time he had slept for more than two hours at a time. But here, on the shore of the lake, listening to the wind and the waves, he was almost fooled that he could fall asleep right then and there.

"Dad?"

Turning his head to the right, Dean glanced at his daughter. She sat on her own lawn chair beside him. A tartan blanket was wrapped around her, making her appear even smaller.

"Yeah?" Dean asked.

"How old you were when you started hunting?"

Dean immediately stiffened. "Why?" he asked, watching her closely.

Noncommittally, Cara looked down at the ground. "I was just wondering."

"It's not something you need to worry about," Dean replied briskly.

"But you were young, right? Like our ages?" Noah piped up. He sat on the other side of Dean, crutches leaned against his chair. He was using the small cooler they had brought to prop up his broken leg.

"I'm not talking about this," Dean responded. He caught Cara and Noah leaning forward, locking eyes with each other, as if silently communicating something.

"So you won't teach us how to hunt?" Noah asked abruptly.

Shooting up from the chair so forcefully, the thing folded. Dean turned, fuming. "Is that what you two have been talking about?!"

Chastised, both kids look down.

"You two have barely been out of the hospital for a week and you think I would even consider handing you a gun? You're out of your minds."

"But what if I need to protect myself in case something bad happens again?" Noah asked.

Dean stared at the crutches. "You don't need to be able to protect yourself because I'll make sure nothing bad happens again. You think I'd let something hurt you ever again?"

"That's not what you told us before," Cara said.

Dean turned to look at his daughter. "What was that?"

"Don't you remember? The water made me remember. After we drowned, you took us back to the pond and told us to jump in. And do you remember what you told us?

"You told us terrible things would happen to us. And you told us we couldn't count on anyone but ourselves. The water made me remember," Cara repeated.

Suddenly want to skin himself, Dean remembered standing in front of an even younger Cara and Noah, telling them how cruel the world could be. But, at the time, he didn't think anything bad would ever happen to them again-he swore he wouldn't let it happen.

But it had.

He had been right, and now his kids were using his own words against him.

"Yeah. You told us we needed to be strong and brave. But how can we do that if we don't know how to protect ourselves?" Noah asked. It was apparent the two had talked about this in depth.

At a loss, Dean didn't know what to say to them. Instead, he turned around and clasped his hands together, locked behind his head. With shut eyes, Dean's teeth ground together as he composed himself.

After several minutes, he finally turned back around to his injured children. How could he teach them to hunt? They were broken, and too fragile to even brave the cold of the wind.

"Dad, I didn't understand what you meant then, but I do now. I understand that we have to be able to take care of ourselves," Cara said.

"We don't blame you or Mom for what happened," Noah agreed.

Unable to listen to them, Dean turned once again and took several steps to the water, but stopped, afraid to go even a few too many steps away.

From behind him, the two children looked at each other. Although neither of them really felt like children anymore. They had been broken and violated by demons, seen what true evil looked like. Cara had felt what it was like to relentlessly beat her father and the pleasure that came with it. Noah had felt the soul of his great aunt leave through the knife that had taken her life, all by his own hand. Their understandings of the world had been devastated, shattered.

And now, they had to figure out how to rebuild everything.

Looking past his father to the water, Noah watched the white-capped waves rise and die endlessly. The boy became mesmerized by the waves, feeling their hypnotic push and pull. While the waves crashing seemed to have a pattern, perhaps they were really more chaotic than organized. Although he didn't have a word for it or understand completely, Noah had learned the lesson of entropy. For him, life had always had a predictable pattern to it. He thought he knew everything he was ever going to know and that nothing could really ever break the boundaries his mind used to define the universe he lived in .

But really the rules had been thrown out and Noah found himself in a universe that adhered to no code or pattern.

Anything could happen now.

"So you won't teach us to hunt?" Noah asked. It didn't seem like his father was going to turn around and respond anytime soon, and Cara seemed at a loss for what else to do. So if something was going to happen, it seemed like Noah was going to have make it happen.

Still, Dean didn't turn around. Noah just watched his father's shoulders rise closer to his ears.

"It's in our blood," the young boy reasoned. "On your side and Mom's."

"You think your mother would ever let you hunt?" Dean was so quiet. With is back turned, Noah wondered if perhaps he had just made up the voice in his head.

Deciding it wasn't enough, Noah realized he had one last thing that would get his father's attention. "Where's your car?" Dean winced at the mention of that.

With wide eyes, Cara stared at her brother. They had discussed the weird premonitions he'd been having, but she didn't think he was ever going to tell their father until the two of them had more of an explanation for what was going on.

"At Uncle Bobby's."

"Why haven't you been driving it?"

Dean didn't respond. He still faced the water, so Cara and Noah had no idea if he was boiling with rage or had tears streaming down his face.

"Were you in a car crash?"

The volume of the howling wind and crashing waves increased, as the shock swelled from within Dean.

Spinning around, Dean strode over to his son and stood over him, shaking with all the emotions he had been trying to hold back. "How do you know that?"

Noah's eyes widened, making him look just as surprised as his father. "Wait...you were?"

"Who told you? Was it your mother? Or was it Sam?" Reaching a state of pent up confusion, anger, and sadness, Dean gripped Noah's shoulders, and began to shake him, hoping the answer would fall out of him.

Alarmed, Cara jumped up from her chair, wincing as her ribs ached. She grabbed one of her Dad's arms with her uninjured hand when she saw Noah hanging onto the chair handles for dear life. "Dad. DAD!" She yelled, trying to get his attention away from Noah.

Realizing what he was doing, Dean was pulled from the sea he was lost in. Getting a grip on his emotions, Dean locked them down before kneeling down in front of his son. "Hey," he said softly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to react like that. But I need to know how you knew about that."

A bit shocked by his father's powerful reaction, Noah looked over at Cara, who was in the process of sitting down. He could tell she was in pain from the way one arm was curled around her torso, as if trying to protect her broken ribs. We she returned to her seat, she let out a tired sigh.

Turning his attention back to Dean, Noah looked past his dad's shoulder, out to the water. "I heard it."

"From who?" Dean urged.

"Not from someone. I heard it in my head."

Dean's expression changed slightly. "What?"

"I was sleeping when we were at Aunt Jan's. And then, one night, I woke up because I was hearing a car crashing in my head. But it wouldn't stop. It just kept going."

Paling, Dean sat back on his knees. They had been in the car accident while Alice and the kids had been at Jan's. "Yes. We were in a crash. Me, Uncle Sam, and Grandpa John."

Suddenly remembering when Dean had been electrocuted for going after that Rawhead, and given a month to live, he remembered Sam relaying a dream Noah'd had. One where Tyler and Jason Hanratty had black, demonic eyes. There had been no way of Noah knowing that, but somehow he'd seen then in his dream.

And Dean thought it had just been a coincidence.

"And that's not even the first time it's happened," Noah continued.

Dean's stomach rolled.

"Even before we went to Aunt Jan's and everything with Murmur...I had this feeling something bad was gonna happen."

"You were probably-"

"I couldn't sleep. I couldn't think of anything else. Dad, I knew something bad was gonna happen. I don't know how to explain it. I just knew."

He didn't want to make the parallel between his brother and son, but Dean couldn't help but think of Sam's strange premonitions. They too had started as uneasy feelings and nightmares. Sam's visions scared the shit out of Dean. But the idea of his son having the same affliction was something his brain couldn't even seem to process.

"Noah…" Dean's voice trailed off, at a loss for what to say. There were no words that he could find to comfort his son, or any to say even in response.

"It's true," Cara said quietly. She had seen how Noah had become a ghost when the premonitions were like battering rams against his brain. Of course, she hadn't known that was the reason why.

Turning around once again, Dean bit down on one of his knuckles. He squeezed his eyes shut, and felt a tear begin to slip out. Angrily, he swiped at the stray tear, internally cursing himself for being unable to lock down his feelings.

"Daddy?" It was Cara's voice. It was so soft and quiet and vulnerable, that for a moment Dean forgot she was ten years old.

There was a tug on a sleeve like there used to be when Cara was half the size she was now. That was how a toddling, little Cara had always gotten his attention, by saying his name softly and pulling on the edge of his sleeve.

And that was what he was expecting to see when he looked down: a little girl, untouched by evil and pain. But when he went to look at her, he was jarred by the sight, as if he had somehow forgotten what he was going to see. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, but it couldn't hide the white cast on one arm, the way she was hunched over at the waist, arm clutching at her ribs, or the hairline scar from the concussion. Beyond her, unable to stand, was Noah. The cast on his leg was bulky that it was hard to miss. Only the angry, scar on his arm was hidden. Both kids had hardened expressions that seemed out of place on their innocent faces. But Noah seemed to have something beyond that, some heavy weight that was rested on his small shoulders. Maybe that was ghd subtle, but noticeable indication Noah was in fact having visions. And perhaps Dean had just mistaken it for the trauma of being possessed by demons.

"I'm here," Dean replied to Cara, glancing meaningfully at his son as well.

Observing him carefully for a moment, Cara finally made some decision in her head. She held up a hand to her father. "Why don't you sit down?"

Allowing himself to be led back to where their set up, Dean sat and watched as Cara painfully lowered herself to her chair. He wondered how long she would be in pain whenever she moved, and he wondered how long it would take for Noah to be able to completely recover.

Catching his father staring at his broken leg, Noah sighed. "We'll be okay, Dad," Cara said, hearing the shakiness in Noah's voice.

Feeling like he was stuck, Dean just nodded.

"We're gonna be okay," Cara assured once again.

After that, both children turned their gaze to the water. The sound of the waves and wind once again cocooned the family, creating soothing cushions against their ears, which eventually lulled the two children to sleep.

Once Dean realized he was the only one awake, he pulled the blankets higher up on his children and finally let out a shaky sigh he'd been holding in since Cara and Noah had asked him to teach them how to hunt.

It was just one more thing that was added to the list of shit that was floating around in his mind.

But like everything else, Dean pushed it back and locked it down. He stared out at the water, wishing everything would be washed away with the waves

She stopped. Just short of the rusty, waist high gate.

With her eyes locked on the dark house that now seemed so foreboding, Alice had flashes to standing the same exact spot more than a decade earlier, back when her parents had disowned her and sent her to live with her aunt. It had been the first time in years the teenaged and pregnant Alice had seen her aunt, a point where she barely remembered the house.

Similar to how she felt so long ago, there was a feeling of dread, like Alice was on the verge of throwing up.

But now, she felt the same way for completely different reasons. When she was a teenager, she was afraid what was in the house. But now, she was afraid of what wasn't in the house.

Pushing forward, Alice swung past the rusty gate and ascended the steps, stopping once again at the heavy door. Feeling like she was intruding, she shakily unlocked the door and swung it open.

Still on the other side of the threshold, Alice looked into the dark house, hearing the creaks and groans of the old place.

Freezing for a moment, Alice contemplated bolting, but then immediately felt like a coward afterwards.

Don't. After everything she did for you, this is the least you can do. Don't disrespect her memory by being afraid.

Gaining a little more resolve, Alice took a deep breath and finally stepped into the house, and slammed the door shut behind her, sealing her in the place that had saved her, had been the first home her children had known. It was the first place she finally felt accepted and wanted.

Now that she was actually there, part of her wanted to walk around every square inch of the house and reminisce, but she stopped short of walking down the hallway, to the kitchen. For in the kitchen, there was the backdoor that led to the backyard, and ultimately, the detached garage. As the place that had been where Jan was killed, and Cara and Noah had been tormented. It was the place where Alice almost watched her children die and watched her aunt die.

Alice didn't want to see it.

After they had gone to the hospital, Dean used his connections and reached out to hunters who had gathered to essentially sterilize the garage. The ones that had heeded the call were those who wanted to pay their respects to Jan. Those hunters ranged from good friends to simply working a single hunt with her Uncle Don. But all the same, she appreciated that they had come together to try and erase the terrible memories from that garage, so that her family could have some peace of mind, and also to prevent any badges from sniffing around the area.

Not wanting to linger in the foyer anymore, Alice heavily climbed the stairs, feeling them sag in the familiar spots, where there was a loose nail. She ghosted past the rooms where she and her children had lived. At the end of a hall, there was a door that had always remained shut. When Alice lived there, the understanding that she would get to live there included the unspoken condition that she would never go into that room.

There was only one instance in which she was to enter.

It had happened when Dean was in the hospital after the heart attack and Jan had drove there with the kids. Before her aunt had left, she'd pulled Alice aside. In a sudden flood of emotion, Jan had told Alice that if she ever died, everything she would ever need to know what to do was in a secret compartment in the back of the older woman's closet. Jan had promised Alice never to mention it or try to look in it until the woman was dead, gone, and nothing but ash.

With those requirements met, Alice was finally able to peel back the bedroom door that unstuck like it was glued to the wall. The room seemed to be encased in a tumultuous quietude; the natural sounds of the house could not permeate the bubble Jan's personal space was existing in.

Closing the door, Alice felt like the pressure was being sucked out of her ears.

Then, she stood and looked around the room in amazement. On the back of the door was a small tapestry of the Hindu goddess, Parvati, and her many arms held outwards.

Frowning, Alice looked around the rest of the room. There wasn't much, just a bed, vanity, dresser, and closet doors, with few decorations around the room. On the floor, there was a red and gold Oriental rug that looked expensive. On the vanity there was a hairbrush, several hair bands, and some unmarked perfume.

The bed was lazily made. The paisley printed covers were pulled back, but it was loose, like someone had inconsequentially threw the covers over the bed. There was only one pillow.

Alice came to stand before the dresser. It was plain, with three drawers, made of a dark wood. Hands moving across the surface, Alice touched some of the artifacts atop the surface. In a crystal dish, there was a golden rosary and a diamond ring. Nearby, a stone buddha statue sat, untouched and peaceful. Back along where the top of the dresser and wall met, was a small stack of leather-bound books. Among the pile were copies of the Koran, Torah, Kama Sutra, as well as several others in other languages. A little bit out of place was HitchHiker's Guide to the Galaxy. But the one that caught Alice's eye was a crumbling, little red book.

It was at the bottom of the stack, so Alice displaced the other books to retrieve this one. Her hands shook as she looked at the tiny thing. In gold text on the front and spine it read "The Holy Bible."

Alice recognized this. For her mother had an identical one in Alice's childhood home.

Opening the front cover, Alice saw a handwritten note in black cursive.

May 9, 1954

Dear Jannie,

We are so proud of you on the day of your First Communion. May this book serve as a reminder for the love God and we have for you.

Love,

Dad, Mom, and Sherry

Feeling tears beginning to prick her eyes, Alice slammed the bible shut and placed it back on the dresser. There was the same exact note in her mother's own version of the bible. It was just so crazy to her how Janet and Sherry had had the same upbringing but had ended up becoming two completely different people.

Remembering that the real answers were held in the back of the closet, Alice opened the folding door and pushed aside Jan's wacky collection of clothing.

As promised, there was a faint outline of a square on the back wall of the closet. It took some prying, but the piece of drywall finally became dislodged with a small explosion of dust.

Setting it down, Alice knelt, inside the closet, and began to pull objects out. At the front, there was what appeared to be a Latin bible, a small, bronze revolver, and a silver knife with a wooden handle.

Realizing what they had probably been used for, Alice carefully placed them to the side and reached further inside. The only thing left in the small compartment was a manilla envelope. There was nothing written on the outside.

Alice was captivated as she rose from her knees, staring at the envelope. This must have been what Jan was talking about.

Taking a seat of the edge of the bed, Alice slowly opened the envelope, and pulled out its contents.

At the top of the stack were a few sheets of loose leaf notebook paper written in messy handwriting. Beneath that were several white envelopes with names on the front, and several photographs stacked underneath that.

Returning to the sheets of paper that were on top, Alice felt she should read that first, as Jan had probably put the contents in a certain order. She squinted at the first line of words and almost burst out crying.

The Last Will and Testament of Janet Maureen Sutton

Wiping her eyes, Alice moved the other contents of the manila folder the side, two shaking hands clutching the paper.

She read the letter from beginning to end.

The Last Will and Testament of Janet Maureen Sutton

So...I guess I'm dead. I mean-right now while I'm writing this-I guess I'm still alive.

But if you're reading, that means this is the story of some terrible stupid catastrophe and some of its consequences...or something like that. Hmm. I think that may be from some book.

Anyways, title it obvious. This is the red button to push when I die. And based on who I've told what when, Alice, this letter is probably mostly for you. So here goes.

I don't know since I finally kicked the bucket because of old age but I'm rewriting this. And I'm putting you incharge of my estate and all my possessions. At this point, I know you know about the supernatural world, and if you're reading this then maybe that means something got me before I could get it. But just tell me I didn't die like a punk.

So for my last wishes. This is the part where I rewrote this so many times. As I wrote this, I thought maybe I had no right to ask you of this, but the older and deader I got, the more I thought "you know what, fuck it, I'm either old/dead and I can do what I want."

So, I know I've told you this a million times, but when I die, the first thing you should do is burn me. I don't care if you need to start a fire in my backyard or send me to a crematorium. There's no point on wasting thousands of dollars on some golden casket that's just gonna go in the ground for all time.

And after you burn me, I need you to do a big thing that will probably be the hardest. Although I was never your mother and you were never my daughter, I still considered you one. But still, I wasn't a good enough one.

My kids.

My own kids probably don't even call me their mother anymore. I haven't talked to them-any of them-in ten plus years. But still, I'm gonna be selfish in death and ask you to reach out to them. As my dying wish, I hope that they would come together to honor me in the last moment. Maybe that's a ridiculous thing to ask, but if you could just ask them, that would mean the world to me. And maybe if they say no, they can tell you why they hate me so much.

But just know I never stopped loving you Piper, or my little granddaughter, Merrill. I never stopped loving you Olivia. I never stopped loving you Seth. I loved them until my dying breath, and I loved you, Alice and Cara and Noah, like you were my own children and grandchildren until I finally bit the dust.

And if by some miracle, you reach out to them and tell them what happened and they agree to say goodbye to me, I have one more request. When Don died, we burned him and then sprinkled his ashes in Lake Michigan. Did you know that's the reason we came to Chicago? He was born and raised here, but honestly, I couldn't stand the place. All the people, noise, and pollution. But there was one thing both of us loved. It was that lake. And for me-and you-who grew up in the middle of Bumfuck, Nebraska, it was basically the ocean, the entire world. So my final wish is that my ashes be sprinkled in the lake. I'm pretty sure that by any religion's standards, I'm going to hell, but at least in this way I can be with my Don one last time.

And one last thing, that may seem strange, but I need you to deliver one of the following letters, labelled "Nina" to a restaurant on the South Side. It's called Chimegas. You won't be able to miss it. Just walk in and ask for Nina. She still works there. Trust me.

Anyways,

I feel like I've been writing for an eternity, but evidently it hasn't been that long.

Hopefully actual eternity doesn't feel this long.

With all the love I have,

Jan

The letter was crumbling beneath her hands.

Panicked breaths caused Alice to drop the letter in a state of panic. She couldn't look at the words anymore, that sounded to painfully like her aunt, one who had been so flippant about death, yet had apparently paid homage to the most popular religions.

She ended up kneeling on the side of the bed, her tear-soaked face pressed against the poorly made bed. Her mind swirled around her three cousins: Piper, Olivia, and Seth. The ones who hadn't talked to their own mother in ten years; the ones she'd managed to mostly forget. At first, it made Alice mad that they hadn't talked to their own mother in ten years. But after a bit of contemplation, she realized she had done the same. The block of sadness was only broken up by a chunk of understanding before she became angry with them again. How could they abandon a woman like Jan? An understanding, kind, tough woman? It's not like they had grown up with Sherry as a mother, a woman who was so strict, cold and religious where nothing was ever good enough.

Moving away from the anger she had for her cousins, and the new obligation she had to call them now, there was still one thing that remained on Alice's mind.

Jan hated Chicago.

Maybe it wasn't a groundbreaking revelation, but Alice always thought Jan was a farmgirl with starry eyes for a big city. But she'd been wrong. Jan had hated Chicago the entire time, and the only thing anchoring her to it were the lake and the fact the love of her life loved this place. And yet, after Don died, Jan could've moved anywhere in the world.

But she hadn't.

She stayed right where he had always lived and breathed.

That was true love, Alice decided.

Gaining a bit more resolve, she began to shuffle through the rest of the contents of the envelope. There were three letters addressed to each of Jan's children. Alice briefly wondered if she should mail them or deliver them in person.

But then, after seeing the letter addressed to someone named Nina, she realized she should deliver them in person. But that made her think: who the hell was Nina?

In reality, there was so much Alice didn't know about Jan, but she still wondered about this one person who had been significant enough, to the equivalent of her own estranged children, to leave a letter for after death.

Next, Alice shuffled past the four letters-for Piper, Olivia, Seth and mysterious Nina-and looked at the pictures.

The first one made her heart hurt. It was black and white and was a picture of two little girls, ribbons in their hair, hugging in front of a Christmas tree and fireplace. Alice knew it was Janet and Sherry on Christmas when they were young.

The next was a young Janet. She was in college in this one, wearing a short, pleated skirt that showed her pinstick legs. Her hair flowed backwards in the wind. It had been a dark chestnut color before it turned gray prematurely. Next to Janet in the picture was a young man with stylish dark hair, wearing a letterman jacket, arms wrapped securely around the young woman. They were both smiling brightly. Alice knew that had been one of the first dates Don and Jan had been on.

The next picture included five people. It was Don and Jan older than before with three children. The children ranged from preschool to late elementary school in age. The family was all wearing plaid and seemed to be standing in a forest. The oldest child and the two parents had shotguns slung over their shoulders. Jan, Don and their three young children must have been at the hunting cabin the family had in Northern Wisconsin. The picture was easily more than twenty years old.

The last picture jumped ahead in time and surpassed several burned bridges. It was a young Alice holding a small Cara and Noah on each knee, smiling and laughing at the camera. Tears coming harder at that picture, Alice tried to think of the last she'd laughed that hard. She couldn't remember.

Gently laying everything down, Alice stood up from the bed and contemplated out the window for a moment.

This had been the house her very estranged cousins had grown up in. She had been there once as a child, before living there for several years as a young adult with two children. Although she didn't know the complete scope of what had happened in this house, she knew tears of sadness and joy happened in this house. She knew life and death started here.

And she knew, despite everything, she would do what Jan asked.

And like Jan had, she would move forward and live, even when the world seemed to be falling apart.

That's it! I hope the first portion of this story was worth the wait!

I wanted to ring in this new year with a new season. So with that, That's Season One, folks! I'm sorry it's been two months since I've updated but I'm going to try and get on a more recent updating schedule.

We're onto Season Two and we're going to meet Jan's estranged kids and some other fun things!

In other news, I'm planning on keeping this one fic for now. I have a natural progression of different stories I plan of splitting this saga up into. If you want to keep it in one giant story. Please let me know. Because, as of now, I am thinking on splitting it into about three-four different stories.

And lastly, I want to thank everyone who has favorited or followed. I'm up to 100 followers which is amazing!

I hope to see all of you in the next season!

Happy 2018,

V.