A/N; Oofda! Sorry to leave you hangin' for a while! Crazy times in my part of the world. Anyways - here's an update! This appendix is in multiple sections, so it's a longer spin-off story with it's own 'chapters.' Thanks for reading!

Appendix C

Section A

Alex age 17

"Good morning!" Dean put on a cheerful disposition. "We're from the church – new members. I'm Mike. This is Laura–," a teenage Alex waved at the middle-aged woman standing in the doorway. "We were told you, Mrs. Aberdene, were the person to come to about getting the lay of the land."

"Oh, yes, of course! Come in, come in!" said the woman. "And please, call me Jen. None of that Mrs. Aberdene – makes me feel like an old lady! I'm not there yet!"

The two laughed as they entered the house, the interior of which was immaculately decorated and cleaned. It had a very cozy country home vibe; antique finished wood, twig wreaths and hanging wood planks with comely quotes scrawled across them proliferated. Candles were scattered on every surface, in a variety of shapes, sizes and smells: tea lights in decorative holders, cinnamon jar candles under mirrors, tall, blue tapers in candlesticks, and so on.

"Do make yourselves comfortable in the sitting room," said Jen. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"No, thank you, Mrs.–," Jen held up a finger and gave a teasing expression. Dean gave a small smile and corrected himself, "Jen."

"Well, then, just give me a minute – I have some tea on the stove I can't let sit overlong!" Jen chirped, then disappeared through a doorway.

"She seems nice," said Dean.

"She's weird," said Alex.

"What?"

"She's nice, yeah. Too nice. It would be normal from anyone else, but she seems forced," said the young woman. "And look at this place! It's perfect!"

"Come on, now, I've seen houses like this before and the people living in them have been perfectly normal," Dean played devil's advocate.

"Yeah? Did you notice picture frames in those houses?" Alex persisted.

"Of course, they were everywhere."

"Well what do you see in here?"

Dean paused, his eyes narrowing. Then he cast a glance around the sitting room. A sense of unease swept over him.

"No picture frames," he murmured.

"Exactly," replied Alex.

"All right," Dean turned serious. "Keep your guard up."

There was a metallic thwack. Alex crumpled to the floor, having been struck across the back of her head with a tire iron by a round-middled man in a tweed suit. Then–

WHAM!

Darkness.

~Up~

When Dean awoke, he was tied to a chair. Alex was already conscious in the chair behind his and pulling at her bonds. There was a murmuring of some bizarre language coming from in front of her. Candles were lit on a nearby table. The man in the tweed suit stood across from Dean, his eyes half closed and rolled back into his head. He seemed to mouth the words being chanted, swaying slightly from side to side.

"Ah, crap," Dean breathed.

Alex muttered angrily, almost involuntarily, as her struggles were renewed; "No. No."

There was a hissing sound, like metal being drawn across and away from wood. Dean glimpsed out of the corner of his eye what he guessed was a knife being removed from the tabletop nearby.

"Friggin' pagan gods!" Dean spat under his breath. "Alex? Alex!"

"They're going to sacrifice us," growled Alex. Then, much quieter, "Just go with me, okay?"

Dean was confused but didn't have time to ponder her words. The chanting was growing louder and more rapid. He guessed the speaker (which sounded like Jen) was about to bring the hammer down. Or in this case, the knife. Dean broke out in a nervous sweat. Yet somehow he knew it would be just fine.

Then the knife dove. Alex pitched her weight to her right. Dean, feeling this, immediately pitched to his left and together they leaned their connected chairs just out of the way of the incoming blade. He felt the ropes resonate as they were struck by the blade. They were not severed, however.

"Ah!" Jen called out in frustration.

They tipped back onto all eight legs. Alex jostled in her seat and her grunt of exertion was accompanied by the cracking of a knee and Jen's scream of pain.

"Pull!" Alex shouted.

Simultaneously, she and Dean pushed their chests against the rope, which snapped. The ropes binding their hands to the arms of the chairs fell loose as well, and they stood to fight.

Tweed Suit had awoken from his stupper and was charging Dean. Dean threw a punch into the man's chin that knocked him unconscious. He collapsed on the floor, limp.

"That was easy," Dean mumbled in surprise.

Then he turned to glimpse the fight between his daughter and Jen. It had already ended. Alex held Jen's knife in her hand, the blade dripping with blood. The pagan goddess lay lifeless and bleeding on the ground. Alex turned to her father.

"That was easy," she told him curiously.

"That's what I thought," replied Dean, puzzled.

Then, suddenly, Tweed Suit appeared before Alex and slashed a knife at her. It dug deep into her throat. Then he was gone.

"NO!" Dean screamed. "NO NO NO!"

~Now would be a good time. Up!~

Dean darted over to his wounded daughter. Her eyes were wide and gazing at the ceiling, her mouth agape and gasping. He took her into his arms, cradling her as she slumped lower and lower. Blood seeped out of the slice in her throat and dribbled out of the corners of her mouth.

"No! Dammit!" Dean gasped.

The fight, the room, the situation, not an inch had felt truly real. But suddenly, this was all too tangible. He could feel her body weaken, not a muscle taut. She was heavy in his arms… so heavy. He could feel the blood falling from her wound onto his chest, shoulder and arm, soaking slowly through his clothes; warm, sticky, liquid. She looked at him, and her gaze was her own, truly and completely, and it questioned him. Why was it like this? Why did it all end so soon?

"No no no, you gotta stay with me, baby girl! You promised!"

The light went out of her eyes as they unfocused. Her check came to lie against his chest, and she moved no more.

"Alex? Alex!"

~Up! Up! Up!~

He called out, no words to describe his agony, only a sound to communicate a wound so deep it could not be seen. He rocked back and forth, knelt on the floor, his young daughter's corpse in his embrace. Although it was her soul that had been separated from its body, it felt as if his were being rent in two. All he could feel was pain, and Alex's still warm body against his.

"Come back!" he sobbed, keeping a supporting hand at the base of her skull as he had so often when she was in her infancy. "Come back! Come on!"

Her head wobbled like a bobble on a string under Dean's direction. There was nothing left in her, only the body she'd vacated, now a delicate vessel emptied of life.

Dean awoke with a violent start. So upset was he that he scrambled to sit up and leave his bed, in the process getting caught in the sheets and falling unceremoniously to the floor. There, he struggled to free himself from the tangle of blankets, but only managing to liberate his arms and torso. His victory was so limited mostly because shortly after his battle began, he faltered and ceased his attempts, instead relenting to the terror that had gripped him. He gasped, covered his face with a hand and let his emotions run rampant. He lay there for a time, still.

After a few minutes, he took a few deep breaths to calm himself. "It was just a stupid friggin' dream," he chided himself quietly. "A stupid friggin' dream…." He tried very hard to brush aside the fears stemming from the midnight horror he had just undergone.

But he knew just a little too much to win that battle. It was only a dream, but it could too easily come true.