A/N: You know those episodes of Supernatural that are mostly comic relief scattered throughout a season to artfully balance out the really intense episodes, but they have those hints of the overarching plot snuck in to keep them tied to the prevailing themes so you never feel like the episode doesn't actually matter for the main storyline?

Here you go!

Appendix D

Section G

Alex, Age 18

In a Café Somewhere in the Vicinity of the Windy City

Over the next month, Alex acted almost normal. Which drove Sam and Dean insane. It was the minute, almost imperceptible differences that really bugged them. Alex could hold a conversation with just about anyone about anything. On hunts, she was clearheaded and logical, relentless at research, and an efficient fighter. She could still laugh and joke and play games. But at the same time, there were moments in her speech patterns where she would pause for half a second too long, as if distracted for an instant. She was almost too precise in a fight, and hid the symptoms of adrenaline withdrawal almost too well. And half the time her smile didn't reach her eyes.

And she never talked about Logan.

The closest she ever got to acknowledging what had happened was on a hunt in a suburb outside of Chicago. They stopped at a coffee shop for the WiFi. It was a cozy place, but still bustling.

"You two want to snag a table?" Alex suggested as the three of them paused just inside the doorway. "I can grab drinks. What do you want?"

"Cappuccino—double-shot," said Sam.

"Coffee, black," said Dean.

"What roast?" asked Alex.

"What roast?"

"Yeah, they'll ask what roast."

"I don't friggin' know, just black coffee."

"I'll just get the darkest they've got." Alex shrugged and headed for the counter to order.

"Hi! Welcome to Café Leche! Can I offer you a Pumpkin Spice Latte?" said the barista almost too cheerfully when Alex approached.

Alex gave him a bewildered look. "It's March."

"We serve it all year 'round," said the barista, still sounding perfectly chipper but Alex could see the dead look that crept into his eyes, denoting how many times he'd had to give this explanation.

"No, thank you," she said. "I'm not that basic. Double-shot cappuccino, black coffee, and a latte. All large."

"Coming right up! What roast for the black coffee?" the barista asked.

"Darkest you've got," Alex replied.

"We have three roasts that we consider our darkest—,"

"Oh dear God," Alex hung her head.

"I suggest the Delano."

Even before Alex hauled her head back up to look at the speaker, she could tell by this guy's voice that he was the exact model of a stuck up prick. Upon laying eyes on him, she confirmed her suspicion. He was wearing a polo and too-tight jeans, his sandy blond hair was shaved on the sides and slicked back on top, and his neatly chiseled face was clean-shaven and giving her a sly smile. She also noted that he was absolutely ripped, but she could instantly tell his muscles were completely nonfunctional and all for show. Also, he didn't stand more than five foot nine; if she straightened up, Alex would be ever so slightly taller than him thanks to the two inches of heel on her boots. Compensate much?

"It's got a… rich, nutty flavor to it; perfect for a chilly day like today," he went on, oozing false sophistication.

Alex blinked lazily at him, then rolled her eyes and shrugged. "Sure, whatever. Delano roast for the black coffee," she said to the barista, pulling her credit card (under the name Regina Rodriguez) out of her phone case.

"Absolutely!" The barista sounded even more fake with this guy around. Alex got the impression he was a regular that no one liked. "That'll be twenty-six forty-one."

"Jesus Christ, for coffee?" Alex gaped.

The barista shrugged nervously.

"Don't worry, babe, I got it." The stranger pulled out his own card.

"Don't call me 'babe'," Alex said, knocking his hand away without even looking and tapping her card so quickly he couldn't have made another move to pay.

"Self-made woman," he said. "I respect that."

"Name for the order?" The barista was getting more anxious now.

"Regina," Alex said tactfully.

"Thank you! We'll have that out in just a minute!" The barista quickly turned away and set about the coffee as rapidly as he possibly could.

"Regina," the guy said, his tone dripping with sensuality. "That's a great name. Really goes with your personality."

Alex didn't even respond and walked over to the pick up area to wait for the drinks. The stranger followed her.

It was about then that Sam noticed the interaction, looking over from the table where he and his brother had sat down across from each other. "Hey, Dean." He tapped the elder Winchester's arm. "Get a load of that guy."

Dean inconspicuously cast his gaze around to Alex and her suitor. "Oh, that dude is all kinds of douchebag. Like, a really punchable face. I think I'd knock his lights out even if he wasn't talking up Alex."

Sam had started to smile. "Try to hold off. I kinda want to see her beat the crap out of him."

"You know she could, too," said Dean. "I guarantee you that guy hasn't seen a fight in his life."

"Not one he's won, at least," replied Sam.

Dean barked a laugh.

"You know, beautiful young woman like you doesn't need a coffee to keep warm," Douchebag was saying back at the counter. "You're already hot."

It took every fiber of Alex's being not to guffaw at this horrendous line. She knew that laughing would make him think he was entertaining her, so she managed to keep her face neutral by staring at the barista's feverish movements. Okay, now he's packing that little cuppy thing with that weird plunger thing… what do you call that?

"Playing hard to get, huh?" the stranger continued. "I'll come at it a different way. I'm Patrick."

"I'm not interested," said Alex.

"Whoa!" Patrick said playfully. "Good come back! Nice to meet you, Not Interested. You know, you've got a great mind under all that gorgeous black hair."

Alex finally looked over at him, exasperated. "I'm pretty sure I've heard that come back on every TV show I've ever watched. Just drop it, okay? I'm in town on business and don't have time for your B.S."

"B.S?" said Patrick. "Hey, I'm just tryin' to be friendly. I mean, who wouldn't want to be friends with you? Friends with benefits."

"Buddy, I've dug a lot of holes in my life—graves, mostly; human graves—and none of them are anywhere near as deep as the one you're digging for yourself right now," said Alex.

"Oh! Zing!" Patrick said. "There's that quick wit of yours again! Absolutely fierce. And a little dark with that whole grave idea; nice touch.

"Is that… kind of your thing? The whole dark and mysterious vibe, with the leather jacket and the curtain of hair shadowing your face? Dangerous in a sexy way? Because if it is, girl, I'm into it."

"You shouldn't be," replied Alex. "Might get you into trouble."

"Oh, honey, I am trouble," said Patrick.

Alex snorted a laugh. "Yeah, uh-huh. Cute."

"Seriously, I am!" Patrick protested.

"Trust me, honey, I've seen trouble; you ain't it," replied Alex.

At that moment the barista came up with all three drinks in a tray. "Here you are, Regina! Thank you so much! Have a great day! I'm sorry." His last words were an intense whisper. Then he speed-walked back to the register.

"'Kay, bye," Alex said as she took up the tray and headed for the table.

Patrick followed. "Hey, how about we go get a drink while you're in town?"

"Nope," Alex said.

"Come on! What's the worst that could happen?"

Alex stopped dead in front of the table where her father and uncle were seated, setting down the tray of coffees. She had had enough. Her head snapped around to Patrick, and her expression had gone eerily blank, her eyes like shards of ice. "Do you want to die?"

Patrick looked taken aback. He held up his hands in surrender. "What, are you going to kill me?"

"I'm not what you need to worry about."

Now within earshot of the conversation, Sam and Dean shared a concerned glance upon hearing Alex's comment. They both knew the "what" she was referring to.

Patrick, of course, had no clue of the real danger, and instead made the assumption that any normal person would. "What, are you going to sic these old guys on me?"

"Old guys?" Sam looked offended.

"Hey, we're not old! We're only like…" Dean trailed off, then turned to Sam. "Wait, what year were you born?"

"What year was I born? Dude, you were there."

"I was four!" Dean retorted. Then he shook his head and addressed the douchebag again. "Never mind! The point is I'm her dad and he's her uncle, and either one of us could have you out cold with one hand tied behind our back, and we kinda want to make that happen, so maybe consider backing off."

"One hand, huh?" Patrick replied. "Well, I bet I could get your daughter on her back faster than you could get me on mine."

Dean exploded out of his chair. Sam mirrored him half a second later. Before either of them could even cock a fist, however, Alex threw an elbow into Patrick's jaw, landing squarely on his trigeminal nerve. The douchebag was unconscious on the floor before anyone in the café could blink.

"Guess I only needed an elbow," Alex said coolly.

Uproarious cheers rent the air from behind the counter, making them all jump. The team of baristas was bouncing up and down, hugging each other. One of them was even crying. They weren't the only ones; a smattering of patrons who had overheard the conversation had started clapping approvingly.

"I think he's a regular here," said Alex as she passed out the coffees. "I don't blame them."

She sat down next to her father as Sam and Dean settled back into their chairs.

"Should we move him?" Sam asked.

"Nah, leave him," said Dean. "Maybe he'll come around and we can teach him a couple more lessons."

Sam shrugged.

They relaxed at their table and watched the baristas a little longer. The café crew was still celebrating. One of the women was leaning backward over the counter, taking a high-angled selfie with Patrick's limp body in the background, peace sign upraised and tongue stuck out.

"Hey," Dean addressed Alex, drawing her attention from the comedic festivities. "About that thing you said a minute ago… do you want to talk about it?"

"What thing?" Alex asked.

"About… if he wanted to die. Do you want to talk about it?"

Alex stared down at her coffee, her expression chilled. "No, I do not."

Sam and Dean exchanged another look.

"Okay," said Dean.

"Okay," Alex agreed shortly.

They all took a slow sip of their drinks.

Dean and Alex both had immediate violent reactions to the flavors they encountered, their faces scrunching up in disgust.

"Oh, ukch!" Alex gagged.

"God!" said Dean. "How do you drink this stuff?"

They switched their cups.

"How do I? Yours tastes like hot piss."

"At least it's not thick."

They were both relieved when they got a swig of their own beverages.

"Hey, that's not bad," said Dean, turning the wax paper vessel in his hand. "It's kind of… nutty."

Alex snorted.

"What?" Dean asked.

Alex just shook her head, her eyes shut tight in amusement.

There came a groan from the floor. Patrick slowly regained his feet, grabbing the table's edge for support and wobbling from his dizziness.

"Awesome," said Dean. "My turn." He made to stand.

"I get a go after you," said Sam, scooting his chair back.

Patrick fled.