AN: Soooo I know it's been over 2 years but here's another instalment of Ali's story. It's a fun Christmas chapter with a lil bit of drama added in (inspired by that Doctor Who Christmas special a while ago). Hope you enjoy it x

The bell above the door jingled as Allison Venator stepped into the small convenience store on the outskirts of Sioux Falls. The place smelled like stale coffee and floor cleaner, and the flickering fluorescent lights hummed overhead. She pulled her jacket tighter around her, shaking off the chill of the late afternoon air.

She headed straight for the aisle she needed, scanning the shelves for the item Bobby had sent her to pick up. "Should've been more specific," she muttered under her breath, eyes narrowing as she sorted through different brands.

After a few moments, she decided they were probably all the same. She snatched it up and turned on her heel, making her way toward the register.

The old man behind the counter barely looked up from his newspaper as he rang her up. "That all for you, miss?"

"Yep," Allison replied, fishing a few crumpled bills from her pocket and handing them over.

The register dinged as he punched in the total. "Haven't seen you in here for a while."

"I don't come to town much anymore," she admitted, leaning on the counter as she waited for her change.

The man gave a small nod. "Well, you tell Bobby Singer he still owes me for that case of beer from last month."

Allison smirked, taking her bag. "I'll remind him. But good luck collecting."

The old man let out a chuckle, shaking his head. "Figures."

She stepped out of the store, the door creaking shut behind her. The sun was dipping lower in the sky, casting an orange glow over the quiet street.

She walked quickly, her eyes scanning her surroundings for any sign of a looming figure. If she'd had more courage, maybe she'd hang around and try to confront the man who was seemingly stalking her if he showed his face, but the bottom line was that she was afraid.

She was afraid of him. And she was afraid of whatever he wanted with her.

As Allison walked towards her car, she suddenly felt hands grasp her from behind – one around her waist and the other firmly over her mouth. She panicked as she was pulled into the darkness of an alley, away from the line of sight of the store owner.

Allison struggled against the hold, her hand rummaging behind her back for the handle of her firearm. She grasped it firmly, and with as much force as she could muster, she jabbed her assailant in the ribs with her elbow, giving them an extra kick in the thigh when they wouldn't initially let go. She whipped around, holding the weapon out in front of her, barrel trained on the man who stood before her.

"Who the hell are you?" Allison demanded, her voice trembling but steady enough to convey she wasn't messing around. Her finger hovered near the trigger as she studied the man. He was tall, with dark hair that fell into his eyes, masking them from her. A dark hood cast a shadow over his face, obscuring the rest of his feature. Even so, Allison recognised him as the man who'd been following her instantly.

"Why are you following me?" There was something eerily calm about his demeanour, which only put her more on edge.

The man raised his hands slowly, palms out. "Easy, Allison" he said, his voice brittle and with an edge of urgency. "I'm not here to hurt you."

Her grip tightened on the firearm. "Really? Because grabbing someone and pulling them into an alley sure sends the opposite message."

The man's lips curled into a faint smirk. "Fair point. Poor execution on my part. But I needed to talk to you without the peanut gallery watching."

Allison's heart raced. He knew her name. That meant he had been following her. "How do you know who I am? What do you want?"

"I know a lot about you," he replied cryptically. "And believe me, what I want is to keep you breathing."

Her stomach churned, her instincts screaming at her to get out of there. "Are you a demon?" she demanded, her voice sharp. "Because if you are, this won't end well for you."

The man cocked his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as if he were appraising her. "No, I'm not a demon. But I'm guessing you've had your share of run-ins. That's why I'm here—to make sure you survive your next one."

"I don't need your help," she snapped, lowering her gun slightly but not fully letting her guard down. "I have people. I'm fine."

He took a cautious step forward, his movements deliberate, almost hesitant. "The Winchesters? Sure, they're good. But even they can't watch you every second. And let's just say...you've attracted some attention. Not the good kind."

Her jaw clenched. "What attention? Who are you talking about?"

The man sighed. "You remember what happened outside Harvelle's?" Ali cast her mind back, recalling the harrowing attack when she'd stayed with Ellen and Jo. "Those weren't demons that came after you, we're they?"

Allison's breath hitched. "They wanted Tyler's knife," she recalled, her brow furrowing as she tried to remember the details of that night. "Why?"

His expression darkened. "I don't know," he admitted. But the way his gaze flickered told her he was holding something back.

"Bull. You know something," she pressed, stepping forward. "Tell me."

The man hesitated, but before he could answer, the distant sound of a car door slamming echoed through the alley. Her assailant stiffened, his expression darkening as he glanced toward the sound. "We don't have much time," he said, his tone suddenly urgent. "They're closer than I thought."

Ali's blood turned cold. "Who? Who's closer?"

"Listen to me very carefully," the man said, his tone deadly serious. "Get back to Bobby's, and stay there," he instructed, ignoring her question. His calm facade was cracking now, his voice laced with something urgent. "Don't let your guard down, and for God's sake, don't go anywhere alone again."

"Why should I trust you?" she challenged, her gun still raised but now wavering slightly.

He looked at her, something unreadable flickering across his face. "Because monsters and hunters alike, they'll be after you." She narrowed her eyes at him, silently pressing him for more information. He let out a breath, as if he were reluctant to say the rest. He said the words anyway. "Venator blood doesn't exactly grow on trees these days."

Ali opened her mouth to speak, but before she could press him further, he turned and vanished into the shadows, leaving her alone in the alley, her pulse pounding in her ears.

The drive back to Bobby's was quiet, but Allison's mind was anything but. Her hands gripped the wheel tightly, knuckles white against the leather. The stranger's words played on a loop in her head.

Venator blood doesn't exactly grow on trees these days.

Who the hell was he? And how did he know about her family?

By the time she pulled into Bobby's salvage yard, the sun had nearly disappeared below the horizon, leaving only a faint glow in the sky. She turned off the engine and took a deep breath, trying to push the encounter to the back of her mind. She didn't have answers, and until she did, there was no point in panicking.

Stepping out of the car, she grabbed the bag of supplies and made her way toward the house. The porch light flickered above her as she swung open the front door and stepped inside.

She found Bobby in the kitchen. He looked up from his the counter as she entered and gave her a once-over. His sharp eyes narrowed. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Allison forced a laugh, setting the bag on the counter. "Just tired. Long drive."

Bobby's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he grunted, taking a swig of his beer. "Mm-hmm." He clearly wasn't convinced, but thankfully, he didn't press the issue.

From the other room, the TV played softly, some old western droning on. The familiar scent of old books, gun oil, and whiskey filled the air, grounding her in the safety of home.

Sam and Dean weren't back yet from their latest hunt, which meant she had time—time to figure out what the hell had just happened and what, if anything, she was going to tell them.

"You get the nutmeg?" Bobby asked, pulling Ali from her thoughts. She nodded, pulling the small jar from the bag and placing it on the counter in front of him.

"What's it for anyway?" she asked, wondering what peculiar spell Bobby might be working on – perhaps something that would help Dean with his demon deal.

"It's for the cranberries," Bobby said with a displeased look, holding up a bowl of red pulp. Ali frowned.

"What-?" Bobby's exasperated sigh cut her off.

"It's Christmas, Allison."

Later that evening, Allison wandered into the living room, only to stop dead in her tracks. She squinted at the object leaning haphazardly against the wall, tilting her head. "What the hell is that?"

The sad-looking fern tree leaned pitifully to one side, its branches uneven and scraggly.

Bobby walked in behind her, rolling his eyes. "I know you had a somewhat deprived childhood living with me and all, but you'd think you knew a Christmas tree when you saw one."

Allison crossed her arms. "I know what it is, but what is it doing in the house?"

Bobby muttered something under his breath, scratching the back of his head. "I dunno. Thought you might wanna decorate it or something."

She blinked. "Bobby, when have I ever expressed an interest in festive interior design?" She continued. "Anyway, isn't Christmas Eve a bit late to be doing this?"

He grumbled, turning toward the kitchen. "Fine. Leave it. Figured it might be nice, is all."

Allison sighed, rubbing her temples. Well, great. Now I can't just leave it there like an abandoned houseplant.

With a resigned huff, she grabbed a box from the hallway closet and started searching for anything remotely festive. Twenty minutes later, the tree was sporting some straggly pieces of tinsel, a few mismatched baubles, and a star she had hastily fashioned out of aluminium foil.

Bobby walked back in, beer in hand, and examined her work. "Well… it's somethin'."

Allison stepped back and placed her hands on her hips. "It's good enough."

The tree swayed slightly as if in agreement, one of the baubles slipping off and hitting the floor with a dull thunk.

Bobby snorted. "Festive as hell."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't help the small smirk tugging at her lips. "Merry freakin' Christmas, Bobby."

"Yeah, yeah. Don't go gettin' sentimental on me." He took a long sip of his beer before giving the tree one last look. "Next year, I'm buying a plastic one."

Allison nodded. "Good call."

She sat down on the couch, her fingers idly picking at a loose thread on her sleeve as she sipped on a beer. The soft hum of her phone vibrating against the coffee table made her jump. She snatched it up and pressed it to her ear.

"Took you long enough," she said, trying to keep her voice even.

Dean's voice came through, rough and slightly breathless. "Yeah, well, we've been a little busy, Ali. Look, I—"

"Let me guess," she interrupted, her tone sharper than she intended. "You and Sam aren't gonna make it back tonight."

Dean exhaled, and she could picture him rubbing the back of his neck. "We hit a snag. Hunt's taking longer than expected. I'll make it up to you, alright?"

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. "It's fine. It's not like I was waiting up or anything."

A pause. Then: "You're a terrible liar, you know that?"

She let out a short, humourless laugh. "Yeah, well, I learned from the best."

Silence stretched between them. She wanted to be mad, to yell at him for breaking his promise, but what was the point? It wasn't like she didn't know how this life worked. Still, it stung. This could be his last Christmas before—

She shook the thought away before it could take root.

"Ali," Dean's voice was softer now, like he could hear every unspoken word in her head. "I really am sorry."

She took a deep breath. "Yeah. Me too."

"Hey," he said, trying to inject some warmth into his tone, "I bet you and Bobby put up one hell of a tree."

She glanced over at the lopsided mess in the corner, the foil star drooping pathetically. "Oh, yeah. It's a masterpiece. Real classy."

Dean chuckled. "Send me a picture. I need a good laugh."

"Not a chance, Winchester."

Another pause. "I'll be home soon, Ali. Promise."

She wanted to believe him. "Yeah. See you soon." There was some shuffling down the line, before Sam's voice filled her ear.

"Ali, hey," his voice was quieter, apologetic. "Dean told you, huh?"

"Yeah, he told me. I get it, Sam. Hunt comes first."

"Still, we meant to be there. I know it's not the same, but… we're thinking of you."

She closed her eyes for a second. "Yeah. Thanks, Sam. Just—watch out for each other, alright?"

"Always. Merry Christmas, Ali."

She hung up, letting the quiet settle around her. Staring at the tree, she sighed. "Merry Christmas, idiots."

Christmas Day arrived and for the most part, it had been peaceful—well, as peaceful as it got in Bobby Singer's house. The fire flickered warmly in the fireplace, casting a soft glow over the cluttered living room. Empty plates sat on the coffee table, remnants of the feast they'd consumed earlier.

Ali leaned back on the couch, her stomach so full she swore she might burst. "I think I just ate my weight in ham and mashed potatoes."

Bobby snorted from his armchair, sipping his whiskey. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

She groaned, stretching her legs out and patting her stomach. "Nah. No regrets. Great cranberries by the way."

"It was the nutmeg."

A comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the occasional pop from the fireplace. After a moment, Allison sat up and reached for a small paper bag beside her. "Hey, I got you something."

Bobby looked up, eyebrows raising. "We don't do presents."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, just take it."

He took the bag and peered inside. A slow, appreciative smirk crossed his face as he pulled out a bottle of whiskey—the fancy kind. His favourite.

"Well, I'll be damned," he muttered, turning the bottle over in his hands. "You do listen."

"Sometimes," she said with a shrug.

He gave her a look but didn't argue. "Thanks, kid." He twisted the cap off and took a swig straight from the bottle, nodding in approval. "Good stuff."

"You better appreciate it. That cost me a whole afternoon of dealing with a cranky shop owner who thought I was trying to scam him."

Bobby chuckled. "That's the spirit of givin'."

Before she could respond, the fire in the fireplace flickered—once, twice—then started to burn an eerie shade of blue.

Allison frowned. "Uh… Bobby?"

"I see it." Bobby set his whiskey down, eyes narrowing at the strange glow.

Then, out of nowhere, the Christmas tree bristled.

Like, actually bristled. The branches trembled violently, the ornaments rattling like an earthquake was shaking the house.

Allison slowly turned her head to Bobby. "Is it… supposed to do that?"

Before he could answer, the tree lurched forward.

"Whoa, what the hell?!" Allison scrambled off the couch as the tree moved.

The branches spun—rotated, like some sort of unholy buzzsaw. The entire tree shifted toward them, its tinsel whipping through the air like angry tendrils.

"Oh, you gotta be kiddin' me," Bobby muttered.

The tree lunged.

"Move!" Allison yelled, diving out of the way just as the possessed Christmas tree sliced through the coffee table. The wooden surface cracked in half, sending debris flying across the room.

Bobby was already reaching for the shotgun mounted on the wall. "I swear, I cannot have one normal goddamn Christmas—"

Allison pulled out her pistol and took aim. "What are we even shooting at?! It's a freaking tree!"

The Christmas tree whirled toward them again, its branches spinning faster. The tinsel wrapped around a chair leg and hurled it across the room, smashing into a bookshelf.

Allison fired first. The bullets hit the trunk but did absolutely nothing except make the tree angrier.

"Well, that didn't work!" she yelped, backing up as it advanced.

Bobby pumped his shotgun. "Let's see if buckshot gets the message." He fired—BAM!—sending splinters flying.

The tree shuddered but kept coming.

"Seriously?!" Allison shouted.

Then, before she could react, a stray branch lashed out and caught her arm. She hissed as it sliced through her jacket, drawing blood.

Bobby saw red. "Alright, that's it."

"Bobby, whatever you're gonna do, do it fast!"

"Get outta the house!" Bobby yelled, grabbing the salt container from the counter.

The tree swung again, nearly knocking Allison off her feet. She bolted toward the door, Bobby right behind her. As soon as they made it to the porch, Bobby whirled around and threw salt at the tree like he was seasoning a damn steak.

The effect was instant. The tree let out a horrible, high-pitched screech—because apparently, possessed trees could scream—and started shaking violently.

"Burn it!" Bobby hollered.

Allison, already two steps ahead, grabbed a can of lighter fluid from the porch. Without hesitating, she doused the cursed tree, then flicked a lighter open. "Merry freakin' Christmas, you evil piece of crap."

She tossed the flame.

FOOM!

The tree went up like it was soaked in gasoline. The fire roared, turning the air thick with black smoke. The tree twitched, its last dying movement before it collapsed into a burning heap on the ruined living room floor.

Allison coughed, waving the smoke away. "Well. That happened."

Bobby surveyed the wreckage—the scorched floorboards, the destroyed coffee table, the general disaster that was his living room.

Then he picked up his whiskey bottle, which had miraculously survived the carnage. Walking out to the front door to escape the smoke, he took a long, slow drink.

Ali plopped onto the porch steps beside him, pressing a hand against her bleeding arm. He passed her the bottle and she drank a gulp before passing it back to him. They sat in silence for a moment, their minds replaying what had just happened.

"I'm just gonna say it," Ali started. "—this is your fault for bringing a tree into the house."

Bobby shot her a look. "You wanna repeat that, smartass?"

She grinned. "Hey, I didn't see you stopping it from turning into a homicidal shrub."

Bobby sighed, rubbing his temple. "I swear, this damn house attracts weird."

Allison chuckled, her nose still filled with the smell of the burning remains of the tree. "At least now we know—next year, we go plastic."

Bobby took another swig of whiskey. "Damn right."

They sat there for a moment, watching as a few flakes of snow began to fall from the darkening sky.

Then Bobby muttered, "Well. Guess I'm callin' the insurance company tomorrow."

Allison groaned. "Merry Christmas, Bobby."

He grunted. "Bah humbug."

Allison sat cross-legged on the floor of her bedroom, surrounded by open boxes and scattered remnants of a past life. The air was thick with dust, the scent of old paper and metal filling her nostrils as she sifted through the belongings she'd taken from her childhood home.

She had been at this for hours—digging, searching, trying to make sense of it all.

The stranger's words still echoed in her mind.

Venator blood doesn't exactly grow on trees these days.

Her family.

What did he know about her family that she didn't?

With a frustrated sigh, she pulled another box closer, tearing off the lid. Inside were old notebooks, faded photographs, and carefully wrapped trinkets that she hadn't seen in years. She thumbed through the photos—her mother's smile, her father's watchful eyes, the faintest memory of something she could never quite hold onto.

Nothing.

No answers. Just ghosts.

Her gaze landed on the old, battered drawer laying next to the box the box. She pulled it towards her, gripping the handle tightly before tipping its contents onto the floor. Silver knives clattered against the wooden boards, their gleaming edges catching the dim light of the room.

She stared at them, heart pounding. She knew John Winchester must've kept them for some reason, but why?

Allison ran a hand through her hair, trying to wrack her brain for any possible explanation. Had John known something significant about her bloodline? Had he been trying to protect her? Or had he been keeping something from her?

A lump formed in her throat.

John had been dead for over a year. If he had known anything, he had taken it to the grave.

She picked up one of the knives, running her fingers along the cool silver. She was missing something—something important.

And if she didn't figure it out soon, she had a feeling she wouldn't like what happened next.

A sudden knock at the front door startled her out of her thoughts. She inhaled sharply, setting the knife down before pushing herself up from the floor. As she walked out of her room and towards the door, one thought remained heavy in her mind.

What the hell did John Winchester know that she didn't?

She reached for the handle of the front door, already unimpressed before she even opened it.

Sure enough, standing on the porch, looking like two overgrown lost puppies, were Sam and Dean Winchester. Snow gathered around their feet, and they shivered a little in the icy wind.

Dean grinned at her, arms outstretched. "Merry Christmas!"

Allison crossed her arms, unimpressed. "It's New Year's Day."

Dean's smile faltered. He scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, uh… hunt took longer than expected."

"Shocking," she deadpanned.

Sam at least had the decency to look guilty. "Ali—"

She sighed, too tired to argue, and stepped aside. "Get in before you freeze to death."

They walked in, shaking off the cold, and Dean barely made it two steps before stopping short in the living room. His eyebrows shot up. "Uh. What the hell happened in here?"

The mess had been cleaned—mostly—but the charred floorboards remained, the faint scent of burnt wood still lingering in the air. Half of the coffee table was sitting next to Bobby's chair like it had been sawed in half.

Bobby, sitting in said chair with a newspaper in hand, didn't even look up. "Morning, boys."

Sam frowned, eyes flicking to the destroyed furniture. "Did something… catch fire?"

Bobby and Allison exchanged a look.

"Don't ask," they said in unison.

Dean's eyebrows rose even higher. "Okay. Now I have to ask."

Allison pinched the bridge of her nose. "Long story short? The Christmas tree tried to kill us."

Dean blinked. "...Come again?"

Bobby grumbled, flipping a page in his newspaper. "Tree was possessed. Damn thing nearly buzz-sawed us into the next life."

Dean turned to Allison, looking for confirmation.

She just nodded. "It cut my arm and everything." She held up the bandage on her sleeve as proof.

Dean let out a low whistle. "Man, and I thought we had a rough Christmas."

Bobby scoffed. "You idjits missed Christmas."

Dean plopped down on the couch, stretching out. "Yeah, well, demons don't exactly take holiday breaks."

Sam sat down across from him, rubbing his hands together to warm up. "So what did we miss? Besides, you know… the homicidal Christmas tree."

Allison leaned against the armrest of the couch, arms folded. "Not much. Ate way too much food, survived a sentient shrub, and spent the past few days wondering if you two were ever gonna show up."

Dean sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "Look, Ali, I wanted to be back. But the job—"

"—Comes first," she finished for him. "I know." She exhaled, shaking her head. "It's just… you said you'd be here, Dean."

Something flickered in his expression—something guilty, something unspoken.

Sam glanced between them, clearly sensing the tension, but not saying anything.

Dean leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I know. And I'm sorry." He let out a breath. "But let's be real, Ali. Even if I made it back on time, what was I gonna do? Sit around, drink eggnog, pretend everything's normal?" He scoffed. "Nothing about this year is normal."

The weight of his words settled over the room. They all knew what he was talking about.

The demon deal. The one that had punched his ticket to Hell.

Sam shifted uncomfortably. Bobby lowered his newspaper but said nothing. Allison's throat tightened.

This could be his last New Year's. His last birthday. His last anything.

She forced a smirk. "Well, if you had been here, you could've helped fight a tree. Might've been a nice distraction from your impending doom."

Dean huffed a laugh. "Oh yeah, that sounds way more fun."

Bobby finally spoke up, voice gruff. "You two gonna keep dancin' around this or are we gonna talk about it?"

Dean's jaw clenched. "Ain't much to talk about, Bobby."

"That so?" Bobby shot him a look. "You planning on doing something about it?"

Dean exhaled sharply. "Trying."

Sam straightened up. "We're looking for ways to break the deal."

Bobby nodded. "Good. 'Cause I ain't sitting around watching you clock out early, ya hear me?"

Dean smirked. "Aw, Bobby, didn't know you cared that much."

"Shut up," Bobby muttered.

Allison spoke up, softer now. "Seriously, Dean. We're gonna find a way out of this. You're not going anywhere."

Dean met her gaze, something unreadable in his eyes.

A few seconds passed. Then he exhaled, leaning back. "Well. Guess I better stick around long enough to see if you guys get possessed by any other holiday decorations."

Allison snorted. "Better watch out for the Easter Bunny. I hear he's a real bastard."

Dean smirked. "I'll be ready."

A pause. Then, Sam clapped his hands together. "So. Since we missed Christmas… anyone up for a late holiday drink?"

Bobby grunted. "Only if I ain't sharin' my whiskey."

Allison grinned. "Deal."

Dean shook his head, smirking. "Well, happy freakin' New Year, I guess."

Bobby muttered, "Here's to surviving another year."

They all nodded at that.

Because, at the end of the day, that was all they could hope for.

As Sam wandered into the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets for glasses and a half-decent bottle of bourbon, Dean lingered near the doorway, his usual confident stance replaced by something… hesitant. Uncertain.

Ali narrowed her eyes. She recognised that look. "Alright, what is it?" she asked, crossing her arms.

Dean let out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "Hey, I, uh… got you something." Ali blinked in surprise as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small box.

She frowned. "Dean, I didn't get you anything."

He shook his head, brushing off her words. "It's not really a Christmas present," he admitted. "More of a… belated birthday thing."

Ali arched a brow. "Dean, that was two months ago."

"Yeah, I know," he said quickly. "We were on the road, things were crazy. But it was your eighteenth," he said, voice softer now. "And I—I feel bad me and Sam didn't do anything for it."

Ali hesitated before taking the box from his hand. It was small, unremarkable, nothing fancy. The kind of box that could hold something expensive, or something deeply personal.

Her fingers were oddly clumsy as she opened the lid. Inside, nestled on a thin silver chain, was a shotgun bullet end cap. The shell was stamped with a single word: Winchester.

For a long moment, she just stared. She felt something tighten in her chest, a slow, deep ache she couldn't quite name.

Dean shifted awkwardly, his gaze flickering from her face to the floor and back again. "It's, uh… well, I figured it's about time you had something official, y'know?" He cleared his throat, like he wasn't sure what to do with the weight of his own words. "You're family, Ali. Always have been."

Ali's fingers curled around the necklace, gripping it like it might disappear if she let go.

Family.

It wasn't something she took lightly. Family was something that had been taken from her in the worst possible ways. Her parents. Her brother. Her home. And for a long time, she hadn't thought she would ever have anything close to that again.

But now she had Bobby, and she had Sam and Dean.

She didn't realize her vision had blurred until the box in her hands went fuzzy at the edges. Without thinking, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.

Dean tensed for half a second but then he let out a breath and hugged her back. His arms were warm, steady. Safe. Neither of them spoke. She didn't need to.

When she pulled away, Dean's stomach twisted at the sight of her face. Her eyes were wet, her expression almost grief-stricken.

"Ali," he said, voice quieter now. "Don't—don't cry. C'mon, I'm still here, aren't I?" He forced a smirk, trying to defuse the moment like he always did.

But Ali couldn't shake the heavy feeling in her chest. He was still here. But for how long?

She swallowed, voice thick. "...Dean."

Something in her tone made his expression shift. The teasing edge faded, replaced by something serious. "You know me and Sam have always wanted what's best for you, right?" he asked, watching her closely.

Ali frowned. "Yeah, of course I know that."

Dean hesitated, like he was searching for the right words. Finally, he exhaled sharply. "Promise me something," he said, voice firm now. "No matter what happens… you stick with Sam and Bobby. You keep each other safe."

Ali's stomach twisted. There was something in his face—something wrong. Her fingers tightened around the chain. "Dean, what's going on?"

"Nothing," he said too quickly. "I just—I've got this feeling, okay? Something's coming."

Ali's heartbeat picked up. "You mean besides the whole… demon deal thing?"

Dean pressed his lips into a thin line. "Yeah. Not just that."

She didn't like this. She didn't like the way he looked at her, like he was preparing her for something. Her mind flashed back to every time Dean had taken a hit for someone else. Every time he put himself last. Every time he should have walked away but didn't.

"Dean—"

"Just promise me, alright?" he cut in, voice quiet but unshakable. "No matter what, you don't let anything pull this family apart."

Ali felt her throat close up.

There was so much she wanted to say. That they were already family. That she wasn't going anywhere. That she didn't know what she would do if—

She swallowed hard.

She couldn't say any of that. Instead, she nodded. "...Okay. I promise."

Dean studied her for another second before forcing a lopsided grin. "Good. Now, c'mon. Before Sam drinks all the damn bourbon."

Ali let out a shaky breath and followed him out of the room, slipping the necklace over her head.

Even as the cool metal rested against her collarbone, the unsettled feeling in her gut didn't go away.