Elizabeth is starting to wish she'd just kept her position as a CNA at that run-down nursing home in Chandler, it has to be better than finding out Sam's potential one-night stand has summoned a demon and talks to goblets filled with blood.

"I did some digging, too," Dean says, sitting at the table across from Elizabeth. He pushes the paperwork around until he finds the two sheets he's looking for. He slaps them down and points to a bit of writing on each. "Both our vics came from Lawrence."

"Well, that can't be coincidental," Elizabeth says. "You think they were targeted as a way to get us up here? Well, to get Sam up here anyway. This all seems to revolve around you, bud."

"Don't remind me," he grumbles. "So we got two stiffs from our hometown, a woman controlling an ancient demon, and some random dude that's supposed to show up at the warehouse."

"And this dude, the one Meg's been talking to, do we know who he is? Do we even know what he is?"

"You're thinking it's the demon that killed our mom?" Elizabeth shrugs, leaning back in her chair with her knees pressed against her chest. "I guess that would make sense. But why wouldn't he just possess Meg and kill us if that was his plan? He could have got me easy a few months ago."

"Maybe he doesn't want you two dead yet. Maybe he's waiting for something."

"Maybe he's waiting for Dad," Dean says. "I say we trash that altar, grab Meg, and have ourselves a friendly interrogation." Elizabeth thinks of that old Tim Conway sketch, the most feared interrogator in all the world and part of Canada. It had made her giggle when she was little and she has to bite her lip to keep from giggling right now.

"We shouldn't tip her off," Sam says, shaking his head. "I say we stake out the warehouse and figure out just what in the fuck is going on."

"Fine, but I'm calling Dad and seeing if he can meet us there. If it really is the demon, then he deserves a little vengeance." Dean glances over at Elizabeth, taking in the flushed cheeks and the way she's worrying her lip. "Oh, good God, just go watch the fucking interrogation sketch and giggle already." She's off like a shot, practically climbing over Sam and throwing herself on the twin bed in order to grab the laptop.

"The interrogation sketch?"

"Yeah, she's been binging some old Carol Burnett stuff on YouTube lately." Sam shakes his head again, moving around to pack up some weapons and food to keep them busy during the stake out. Dean plops down next to Elizabeth's hip, pulling out his cell phone to call John. As he's doing that, Harvey Korman is speaking gibberish in a German accent and Tim Conway is nodding along sagely. "Turn it down, Liza."

"But this is the funny part," she complains. He reaches over her to press the spacebar, pausing the video before punching in his dad's number. "Spoilsport."

"Hey, Dad, it's Dean. Look, Sam and I are in Chicago and we think we got a serious lead on the thing that killed Mom. It'll be at a warehouse tonight, 1435 West Erie. Dad, if you get this, get here as soon as you can."

"You paused my video to leave a message? Rude."

"Shut up and watch those dudes act like asses." He presses play again and she lets herself be drawn back into the colorful world of the sketch, giggling as the nostalgia rolls over her. Sam comes back into the room, dropping a bag down on Elizabeth's left. "What all did you pack in there?"

"Anything I could fit," Sam says, talking loudly over the bad German accents. He scowls and pauses the video, snatching it away when Elizabeth tries to hit the spacebar. "Stop it."

"You stop it," Elizabeth grumbles, trying to grab the laptop back. She totally would have got it back if Sam didn't sit on her, pinning her in place. "This isn't fair! John said you weren't allowed to do this anymore!"

"Yeah, well, he's not here."

"Get off me or I'll shave you bald, I swear to God." He snorts, watching as Dean sorts through the duffle. Dean pulls out the sawed-off, loading it with salt-rock shells while Sam preps a pistol. "Can I at least have my gun?"

"Promise not to shoot me?"

"I only shot you once and it was a graze. You're just a baby." He slides back to his feet, letting her dig through the bag at her leisure. Her pistol is near the bottom under an old leather-bound tome of exorcisms, the metal cold in her hand. It's already loaded, she just has to take off the safety when it's time.

"You guys nervous?"

"That word isn't in my vocabulary."

"So that's a yes. Dean, how about you?"

"Nah, we can handle this," Dean says, shrugging. "And if the demon that killed Mom is there, we'll handle him, too." There's tension in the set of his shoulders, a nervous energy that hums in the air between the three of them. Demons are no joke, but two of them teamed up together might be too much for them to handle. For God's sake, the oldest one of them is only twenty-six.

"If we destroyed that demon tonight, I think the first thing I'd do is sleep for a month before going back to school. The three of us could do lunch once a week and just hang out. You know? Stay in touch."

"I think I'd go stay with Tanya and Darren for a couple of weeks, maybe find an apartment up there so that I'm closer to Lily," Elizabeth muses. "I've still got my nursing license and nursing homes are always hiring CNAs. I wouldn't mind hanging around some residents again. What about you, Dean?"

"I dunno," he says. "I'd probably keep hunting. Take a week off here and there to spend with you idiots, call you every night to make sure whoever you're banging is up to our standards." She snorts, nudging him with her foot. "I'd have to hogtie Dad, but I'd make sure he came whenever I did."

"Good, he needs to spend more time with you boys. He needs to press pause on hunting and be a father again." Don't get her wrong, John isn't awful at the whole parenting gig, but there are a million ways in which he could improve. Number one being actually sitting his kids down and explaining that he loves them.

"Alright, let's go stalk Sammy's girlfriend." They pile into the car, ready for however long the stake out will take. The drive to the warehouse is done in silence aside from a Kansas song playing through the speakers, a well-worn cassette that will need to be replaced soon.

The first two hours of the stake out are spent much like the drive had been, each of them taking turns using the binoculars. The next five hours pass with a rousing game of I-Spy that ends with Elizabeth in a headlock and the rule that the color your spy has to be stationary and not fucking birds.

"Let me go," she grouses, slapping Sam's bicep.

"Agree to the rule."

"Go fuck yourself!"

"Agree to the rule or I'm not letting go!"

"Meg's here," Dean says. He's bent over the steering wheel, ignoring the chaos unfolding on his right. Sam lets go without warning, Elizabeth falling the rest of the way over the seat and landing with her top half next to Sam's feet and her bottom half sticking straight up. "Well, that was graceful."

"I'm a regular ballerina," she says, wriggling around until the boys pull her up. Ahead of them, Meg is looking around before ducking inside the warehouse, closing the door behind her. "How long do you wanna wait before we follow?"

"Give her five minutes." The five minutes seem to pass slower than the previous seven hours, dragging out until Elizabeth feels ready to snap. "Let's go." She climbs over Sam in her haste to get out of the car, smoothing out her skirt once there's asphalt under her feet. "You should have changed into jeans."

"Skirts are better for fighting."

"Are they better for climbing up an elevator shaft?"

"I guess we'll find out."

Skirts are, in fact, wonderful when climbing up an elevator shaft. She's got a better range of motion than the boys do with the added bonus of teasing Dean with small glimpses of her brand new underwear. The only downside to climbing up an elevator shaft is that her arms feel like limp noodles by the time she gets to the right floor.

Meg's already at the altar by the time they reach the grate, chanting in Latin without realizing how close the hunters are. Elizabeth squeezes through the gap between the grate and the wall, scraping her knee on the rough concrete floor for her trouble. Sam's right behind her with Dean following him, the three of them rising to their feet with their guns aimed in Meg's direction. Meg never turns, just keeps chanting as the three of them quietly make their way to the back of the room, crouching down behind some old equipment that's been left to rot.

"Don't you guys think hiding should be left to children," Meg calls. She turns with an easy smile in place, staring them down past the crates and machinery. "How about y'all come on out so we can have a little chat." The three of them rise in tandem, Sam aiming his shotgun at Meg's head while Elizabeth aims her pistol at the woman's knee.

"How's it going," Elizabeth asks, shooting Meg an easy smile of her own. "Nice place you got here. I heard there's a demon infestation, though."

"Makes it feel like home. I do hope you all know that a little gun isn't going to hurt my daevas."

"Guns aren't for the daevas, sweetheart," Dean says. He's got a shotgun too, but the kick isn't as bad with her pistol and she's been shooting it since she was four years old. At this point, hitting her target is as easy as breathing. "So, who'd you invite here yesterday?"

"You three, of course." Elizabeth's brows furrow and then she's being tossed through the air like she weighs nothing, colliding with the wall across the room. Through blurred vision, she can see a splotch of darkness knocking the boys around like they're ragdolls.

"Son of a bitch," she wheezes, trying to get to her feet. There's a ringing in her ears and she's pretty sure she should win some kind of prize for getting so many concussions and still being able to write her name. She's thrown backwards right as she gets to her feet, sliding back down the wall with a faint moan.

"Don't try to stay conscious," Meg says, striding over with a length of rope in one hand. "Your little boyfriends aren't." Elizabeth's vision is cloudy with tears, warping her surroundings into unrecognizable shapes. Slowly, with another curse, she slips away into the blackness.

When her eyes open again, she's been secured to the elevator grate, hands tied to the metal in unforgiving little knots. Across the room, the boys have been secured to a couple of the columns that support the ceiling. All of them are forced to stay sitting, giving Meg the high ground.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Sammy, but your girlfriend is a bitch," Dean says, giving Meg a cold glare. Elizabeth's glare is just as bitchy, though Meg doesn't seem effected either way. She's seems downright comfortable as she perches on the edge of a table.

"I say we thoroughly vet the next chick you meet while hitchhiking," Elizabeth adds.

"This whole thing has been one long trap," Sam says, struggling against the rope. "Meeting you along that highway and in the bar, following you here, and overhearing your little conversation. Is that why you made sure both the victims were from Lawrence?"

"That was just to draw you in," Meg shrugs. Well, joke's on you because we didn't find that detail until later. Elizabeth doesn't say that out loud because it makes the three of them sound dumber than they actually are. They may share a couple of braincells between the three of them, but those braincells work really hard.

"You killed those two people for nothing."

"I killed them because it was fun."

"Why go through all of this trouble when you could've had your pets kill us in our motel room? Hell, why not just kill me when we were hitchhiking?" Elizabeth drops her head back when the realization dawns, letting out a soft sigh.

"This isn't a trap for us," Elizabeth says, shaking her head. "Our first thought was that Meg was summoning a very specific demon, the one that killed your mom. Who was the first person we called when we came to that conclusion?"

"We called Dad."

"Honey," Dean states," you're a whole lot dumber than you look if you think my dad is going to walk into this pathetic excuse for a trap. He's not even in Chicago." Meg only looks a little offended when Dean calls her stupid, but she bounces back fast.

"John Winchester is one of the smarter hunters, I'll give you that," Meg says, sauntering over kneel in front of Dean. "He's human, though, and all of you have weaknesses. John doesn't have many of those, but the one that's easiest to manipulate is you. He lets his guard down around his boys, lets his emotions cloud his judgement. He even gets a little sentimental about Elizabeth from time to time. The cherry on top is that he is in town and he'll come here to play hero."

"So you think he'll show up and then you can kill all of us with your daevas? I got news for you, we're stubborn little bastards and it's gonna take a lot more than some shadow to do us in."

"I don't know about that," Elizabeth mutters. "A scarecrow nearly killed us a few months ago."

"That scarecrow was possessed by a pagan god."

"Why are you doing this, Meg," Sam asks.

"The same reasons you guys hunt," she says, crawling over to him and settling down in his lap. "My daddy wants me to." Sam scoffs and looks away, ignoring Meg as she presses a kiss to his jaw. "Come on, Sammy, let's not pretend you haven't fantasized about having me on top of you."

"You sure about that? I'm the more dominant partner during sex. Dean, on the other hand, doesn't mind having his partners on top." Elizabeth can see a flash of metal, Dean trying to pull a knife out of his back pocket while Sam does the same. "Just ask Liza."

"Oh yeah," she nods. "He's super submissive during sex. I've got this strap-on we use sometimes—" The knife falls out of Dean's hand with a clatter, Meg's attention snapping to him. Elizabeth and Sam try to keep Meg distracted, but she sidles over to Dean and plucks the knife up with an unimpressed tilt to her lips.

"Were you two trying to distract me while Dean cut himself free," she asks, pouting as she climbs back onto Sam's lap. Elizabeth works the rope against the metal grating, feeling it start to fray.

"No," Sam says, shaking his head. "It was because I have a knife of my own." Meg doesn't get the chance to react before Sam's headbutting her, knocking her onto her back with a shriek.

"Sam," Dean calls. "Get the altar!" Sam gets up and makes his way to the altar on unsteady legs, flipping the table over with a grunt. Meg scrambles to her feet and tries to run, but the daevas are faster. The shadows wrap around her legs, dragging her across the floor and tossing her through the window. The drop to the sidewalk is a long one, Meg's cry cut off by the sound of broken bones.

"I'll bet that's upsetting," Elizabeth says, the rope snapping. Blood rushes back into her hands, the numbness giving way to pins and needles as she tosses the rope aside and stands up. Sam crouches down to cut the rope binding Dean's wrists, then the three of them move over to the busted window. Meg is lying on the sidewalk, one leg bent at an unnatural angle and a pool of blood spreading out around her.

"I guess the daevas didn't like being bossed around," Sam quips.

"Serves her right," Dean says. "Oh, and Sammy? Next time you wanna get laid, try and find a girl that isn't completely bonkers." Elizabeth pats Sam on the shoulder before following Dean back out to the car, Sam coming out a few minutes later with their bag of weapons. "Man, I need a shower."

"Yeah, you got blood all over your neck."

"Like you can talk," Elizabeth snorts. While Dean's head wound is shallow near his temple, Sam's got three deep claw marks on his left cheek that have basically drenched his throat and shirt with blood. "I think we all need a shower at this point. Maybe a couple of them and some stitches to boot."

"Nah, I don't think they're deep enough for stitches." They get in the car and Sam pulls the visor down, using the little mirror to study his cheek. "The blood makes it look worse than it is."

"Whatever you say, big guy." The back of her head is matted with blood, her ponytail holder lying forgotten in the warehouse. She isn't climbing up all those stairs just to grab it, she'll steal a new set from the Dollar Tree in the morning.

The ride back to the motel is spent with quiet conversation interspersed with them singing along to The Devil Game. When they make it back to the motel, Elizabeth is so bone tired that she can barely manage anything faster than a shuffle. She leans against Dean on the way up the stairs to their room, Sam following behind with the duffle slung over his shoulder.

"I still don't know why you're bringing the weapons inside," Dean says, unlocking the door.

"Better safe than sorry," Sam shrugs. The door swings open with a quiet creak of unoiled hinges, Elizabeth moving inside only to get jerked to a halt by Dean's hand fisting in her shirt. He yanks her backwards as Sam shuts the door and she's not sure why until she spots the silhouette near the window.

"Hey!" The figure turns as the light flickers on, the fluorescents making all his sharp edges even sharper, shadows gathering in the faint hollows of his cheeks and along his collarbones. He's smiling and that alone has Elizabeth thrown for a loop. "Dad?"

"Hey, kids," John greets. He meets Dean in the middle of the room, the pair falling into a tight hug that's been a long time coming. Sam and Elizabeth are a little more hesitant, but they make their way over to Dean all the same. She stays slightly behind the boys, nodding when John's eyes land on her. "Hey, Sammy."

"Hey, Dad," Sam says. He lowers the duffle to the floor, then the fingers of one hand are grazing Elizabeth's. They twine their pinkies together, an old habit to assure themselves that they aren't alone.

"Dad, it was a trap," Dean blurts out, the guilt in his eyes making Elizabeth ache to comfort him. "I didn't figure it out sooner. I could'a got you killed."

"Yeah, I figured it was," John says. "I got there just in time to see that girl take the swan dive. I thought it was Elizabeth at first, but I'm glad it wasn't." He sounds genuine and he looks to her again, taking in the dried blood and bruising wrists. "That chick was the bad guy, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"And which one of you did she try to seduce?" All three of them point to Sam, John smiling a little wider at that. He's handsome despite the weariness that has etched itself into his face, his strong jaw covered in a well-tended beard, his hair still dark, build still strong even as he pushes forty.

"Was she working with the demon," Elizabeth asks. "We figured she was, but…. But we weren't sure."

"Yeah, she was workin' for it. The demon knows I'm closing in on it. I'm gonna kill it, not exorcise it or send it back to hell, but actually kill it."

"The only way you can kill a demon for good that I know about is by shooting it with a gun that no one's seen since ye olden days." John's smile turns sarcastic and it makes him look more like Dean than ever.

"Well, I'm workin' on finding the Colt. Gotta make Bobby proud somehow." His smile dims and then winks out of existence, replaced by a frown she's come to know well over the years. "Listen, I don't want you kids getting involved with this demon. I know y'all want to help and I understand that, but I don't need you getting caught in the crossfire. I'd never forgive myself if you one you were killed."

"We can take care of ourselves," Sam insists. "We can help. You don't have to worry about us."

"I'll always worry about you three. I'm you boys' father and Elizabeth's gonna be my daughter if Dean would get the lead out. It's my job to worry." He shoots Dean a look and his son gives a sheepish smile in return. "Listen, Sammy, the last time we were together, we had one hell of a fight."

"As I remember, I won that fight."

"Storming out don't count as winning."

"The point, John," Elizabeth urges. "Maybe find it so I can go wash the blood out of my hair."

"My point is that it's good to see you again, Sam. I stayed away far too long." He and Sam stare each other down for a brief moment, eyes filling with tears before they meet in a hug. Elizabeth slides farther back, not feeling much like having John hug her next. The only thing she wants to hug right now is a bottle of tequila. She's just about to break up the nice moment when John is thrown backwards, Sam jerked to the side by an invisible hand.

"Goddammit—" There's a solid blow to Elizabeth's middle, knocking her backwards. The daeva catches her before she falls, tossing her sideways before hitting Dean next. She collapses next to John, cracking her head on the counter on her way down. John lets out a blood curdling scream as claws dig into him, carving him up like a Christmas ham.

"Shut your eyes," Sam yells. "Shut 'em!" Elizabeth squeezes her eyes shut right as a burst of white light illuminates the motel room, bright even through her eyelids. Smoke follows the light, acrid like burning things.

"Come on, Johnny, let's get outta here." She pulls herself up and helps John to his feet, shouldering the bulk of his weight as they feel along a wall for the door.

"Dad," Dean calls.

"I'm good, Dean," John says. "Liza's got my six." The four of them stumble out of the motel room and into the hallway, Sam kicking the door shut again. Dean moves to John's other side, helping Elizabeth get him downstairs and back to the Impala.

"How much time do you think we got before they find us again?"

"Not long. Maybe until that flare goes out." Elizabeth drops against the side of the car, fresh rivulets of blood soaking into her ruined shirt. She's not even sure who it belongs to at this point, they're all torn to hell.

"Dad, you can't come with us."

"What the hell are you talking about," Sam demands. "Of course he's coming with us!"

"We almost got him killed in there, Sammy. We're his weakness and we always will be. As long as he's with us, then he's in danger. He needs to go one way and we need to go the other." Sam shakes his head stubbornly, gripping John's shoulder like brute strength will keep his dad with them.

"Dad, after all the time we spent trying to find you, you can't leave us now. I gotta be a part of this fight."

"You will be," John promises. "The fight is nowhere near over with. For now I need you to trust me. Can you do that, Sammy?" There's a long moment where Sam just clings to him, like to take his hand away would be to lose John forever. And who knows? Maybe that's exactly what Sam's thinking. Traumatized kids have weird thought patterns as Elizabeth can attest to. Sam claps John on the shoulder one last time and lets his hand drop, looking agonized at the decision. "Take care of my boys for me, Elizabeth."

"Always," she promises. He nods sharply and heads for the truck parked a few feet away, sending them one last look over his shoulder before climbing into the cab. The truck starts with a grumbled roar, then it's pulling away down the alley and towards the highway.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean says. "Let's get the hell out of here." They all climb into the Impala, dead on their feet and sore. All three of them have pieces missing, literal and metaphorical ones, but there's no use sitting around waiting for the demons to finish them. As they head away from the motel, a thought strikes Elizabeth that makes her almost want to cry.

"I think I left my lucky bra in our room."

I've got books that say the good man's golden/And more that say the bad will fall/So many men have drowned in evil/And left Lucifer standing tall/Don't take the devil's dare/Don't gamble when the game ain't fair/Lock and bolt the doors/Can't let the devil use you anymore