A/N: All right. Let's get back to it.

Appendix D

Section H

Alex, Age 18

Catalyst

Spring was fast approaching. Which meant the bunker was getting damp. Just one of the hazards of living underground. Dean was spending the evening cleaning the dehumidifier in the kitchen sink while Sam sat at the table and browsed the Internet for a case.

"You should really be doin' this," Dean said to his brother. "You're the one who wanted this thing."

"You're welcome for breathing non-mold-spore-infested air," replied Sam. "And I cleaned it last Spring."

Dean grumbled.

Alex entered the kitchen, bee-lining for the fridge to snag a soda.

"Hey," Sam greeted her.

"Hey," she replied.

"How's the homework going?" Dean asked.

"Eh." Alex shrugged, leaning on the counter as she popped the can top.

"Speaking of homework," Sam turned away from his computer, removing his reading glasses, "a lot of those college applications are due soon. I've got some time now to help you with them if you want."

Alex sipped her drink and nodded slowly. "I'm thinking I'll take a gap year."

Dean looked sidelong at her, not stopping his scrubbing.

Sam's face registered surprise. "Oh. Sure."

"Is that okay?" Alex ventured, looking between her uncle and her father.

"Uhh…," Sam was hesitant, "I mean, yeah, I suppose."

Alex looked at Dean, who slid his gaze back down to his project. "That's up to you," was all he said.

"'Kay, well… I'll do that, then," said Alex. She would have sounded uncomfortable, even anxious, but all her emotions and reactions were muffled by the walls she had built around herself.

So she left the conversation at that, and Sam and Dean followed her lead. Even though it set their insides on fire to hold their tongues.

"I should get back; Mrs. Sorrensen assigned a crap-ton of calculus worksheets," she said, heading out the door.

"Have fun," said Sam, watching her go.

Once she had left, he plopped back in his chair and let his head fall onto his shoulders, covering his eyes with his palms in frustration. Dean left the dehumidifier, drying his hands with a dishtowel as he wandered over to the table.

"How does that make you feel, Sammy?" he asked, taking the seat opposite.

"It's perfectly normal to take a gap year lots of people are doing it it helps prevent burnout it's a very smart thing to do," Sam replied without taking a breath or changing his position.

"Yeah, we both know that's not why she's doing it," said Dean.

Sam sighed noisily, leaning forward again and dropping his elbows onto the tabletop. "I just want to shake the sadness out of her. I don't know how much longer I can just… leave her to deal with it. I don't want her to be sad and cry, but I want her to be sad and cry. Just get it out, start healing, something. This is… painful. She's still herself, but she's different, and now it's affecting her life choices. I know you said not to pester her, but I'm just going to have to drag it out of her soon; I can't stand it."

"Honestly, I'm not far behind you on this one," said Dean.

"Really?" Sam asked, too tired to even sound doubtful.

"It's too hard to watch," Dean said. "She just does things, because she can, not because she wants to. As if nothing matters to her anymore. And it's not getting any better as time goes on."

"It's like she's slowly imploding," said Sam, holding his head up with widespread fingertips to his temples. "But what could we possibly do or say to stop that from continuing? I mean, there wasn't any evidence that they were killed by something supernatural, but we don't know that for sure. They never caught the guy who did it so we can't tell her it wasn't a monster. We could, but she'd never believe us. We have to definitively prove it to her somehow."

"Maybe there will be a break in the case soon," Dean said. "If we can just hold off for a little while longer, we might have some answers that would make it easier for her to talk about it."

Sam shook his head and scoffed wearily. "Yeah. Maybe.

"Ugh! I'd better keep looking for a job. I need to beat the crap out of something." He put his readers back on.

Dean gave a tiny snort of amusement, staring into space. Then he looked back up at Sam.

"Why do you wear those things?" he asked.

"What things?" asked Sam.

"The specs."

"So I can see my computer," Sam chided, peering over the rims of his glasses. "We're both pushing fifty, Dean; it's okay to use a pair of cheaters now and then."

"Hey, my vision is fine," retorted Dean. "I can see everything in this room as clear as the nose on your face."

"Oh, come on, I've seen you trying to read your phone the last couple years." Sam stretched his arm out as far as it would go and made a strained face as if trying to read his palm. "Your arm's not going to get any longer, dude."

"I don't need glasses," Dean insisted.

"Hey, I wasn't happy about it either, but one day I was in a drug store and I tried on a pair and it was instant relief," said Sam.

"Yeah, whatever," was Dean's reply.

Sam took his readers off and held them out. "I dare you to try them."

Dean looked over coolly, his eyes flicking between the glasses in his brother's hand and Sam's challenging face. Then he relented, reaching across the table.

"They're not going to do anything," he said.

"Uh-huh," said Sam.

Dean placed the readers on his face. Then he threw up his hands. "Now everything's blurry. See? I don't need 'em."

"Look at your phone," Sam instructed.

Dean rolled his eyes, but pulled his phone out of his back pocket nonetheless. He brought the device before him, holding it at a comfortable distance. Everything on the screen was in perfect focus, which he had to admit had not been the case for a very long time.

With a flick of his wrist, he dropped his phone onto the table and pulled off the glasses, handing them back to Sam.

"Screw you," he growled.

Sam laughed, taking the cheaters from his peeved brother, placing them on his face, and returning to his search. Dean headed back to the sink.

"You know, they don't look half bad on you," Sam commented.

"Shut up."

They went about their evening. Sam eventually got bored looking randomly around the country for jobs that didn't seem to exist, so he decided to check the local paper. Surprisingly, there had been a murder.

Multiple murders.

In one house.

On the same evening.

Sam read the article. "Oh, no," he said under his breath. His heart picked up its pace as he read, driven by apprehension and sadness. When he finished, he closed his eyes, clasping one fist with the other in front of his chin, and sighed.

"Who thought it was a good idea to have that many nooks and crannies in something that gets that filthy?" Dean complained, having finished with the dehumidifier. Then he caught sight of Sam. "What's wrong with you?"

"We've got a case," said Sam.

Dean came over and leaned in to look at the laptop, bracing against the table and the back of Sam's chair. He squinted at the screen.

"You want the cheaters?" Sam asked.

"No," said Dean. Then he tried to read the screen again. "Yes."

Sam took off the readers and held them out for Dean to snatch from his hand.

"Ah, crap," Dean said as he scanned the article. He scrolled up to the top of the page to look at the headline photo. "That's Logan's house. Son of a bitch. And they were all shot?"

"All of them," said Sam. "Except the son. He climbed out the bedroom window and down the drainpipe."

"Maybe it's a copycat killer."

"Dean," said Sam meaningfully, "they couldn't find any bullets."

Dean dropped into the adjacent chair and rested his elbows on his knees, looking exhausted.

"What are we going to tell Alex?" Sam asked solemnly.

"We're not going to tell Alex anything yet," said Dean. "We don't know for sure what's going on. It might not be Logan, or it might even be his parents and not him, but until we're sure, we're not going to bring her into it. We'll do some poking around tomorrow, maybe talk to the kid who got away, go to the house, figure some things out before we go dropping this bomb on her."

Sam sighed. "Yeah, I guess you're right. No need to upset her unless we have to."

"All right, I'm going to bed, then," said Dean, standing. "Tomorrow might be a long day."

A/N: …

…

…Did you see it coming?

Yeaaaaaah, y'all watch the show as much as I do; it was inevitable.