AN: Here's the next chapter, hope you enjoy!

Allison Venator's heart pounded in her ears as she pushed forward through the dimly lit street, her boots scuffing against the concrete. She kept her head down, but her eyes were sharp, scanning every shadowed alley, every flickering streetlamp.

She knew he was watching.

He always was.

Her breath hitched as she turned a corner, feeling the weight of unseen eyes prick at the back of her neck. The man—whoever he was—never showed himself unless she was in danger.

So, she had a theory.

If she put herself in enough danger, he'd come.

Before she could think twice about it, she stepped off the curb and straight into the road—

A blaring horn shattered the night.

Headlights exploded in her vision.

Before the impact could hit, something yanked her back so hard she nearly lost her footing.

She crashed against something solid, then tumbled to the pavement, her side screaming in protest as she hit the ground, her ribs still bruised from the last hunt.

The truck sped past, horn still blaring in frustration.

For a moment, all she could hear was the blood rushing in her ears—then—

"What the hell are you doing?"

A sharp voice cut through her daze.

Ali blinked up into a familiar face. Sam Winchester loomed over her, his expression a mix of anger, concern, and sheer disbelief.

His chest was rising and falling fast, adrenaline clearly still pumping through him.

"What—" she started, pushing herself up, only to wince at the pain in her ribs.

Sam's hands were already on her arms, steadying her before she could topple again. "Are you okay?" His voice had softened just slightly, but the edge of frustration was still there.

Ali's jaw tightened. Dammit. He wasn't supposed to be here.

She glanced over Sam's shoulder, scanning the dark street, looking for him. The man. Her stalker. The shadow in the corner of her eye.

Nothing.

She clenched her fists, a wave of frustration rising up in her chest.

"Ali." Sam's voice brought her back, his grip still firm on her arms.

She finally looked at him, properly taking in his expression. His brows were furrowed deeply, his lips pressed into a hard line, his hazel eyes scanning her like he was trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

Ali swallowed, still catching her breath.

"I was… testing something."

Sam's expression darkened instantly. "Testing what? Your ability to get hit by a damn truck?!"

Ali exhaled sharply, shaking off his grip. "I knew someone would stop me."

Sam let out a humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Oh, great. So your whole plan was to play chicken with a semi and just hope for the best?"

She clenched her jaw, still too wired to explain properly. "I had a theory—"

"A theory?" Sam repeated, voice rising. "Ali, that wasn't a damn theory, that was suicidal!"

Ali flinched at the word but didn't back down. "I wasn't going to let it hit me," she snapped.

"Oh yeah?" Sam shot back, arms crossing. "Because it sure as hell didn't look that way from where I was standing!"

Ali opened her mouth, then closed it again, frustration bubbling under her skin. This was a mistake.

She pushed past him, brushing dirt off her jacket. "I don't have time for this."

Sam's hand shot out, gripping her wrist gently but firmly. "Ali, wait."

She exhaled sharply, but didn't pull away.

His voice had dropped again, back to that low, worried tone. "Whatever you were trying to do—it wasn't worth it."

For a second, her resolve wavered.

But she forced herself to look away before he could read too much.

"…I have to go," she said, voice quieter now.

Sam hesitated—like he wanted to argue, to demand answers—but after a long moment, he let her go.

Ali turned away, stepping back onto the sidewalk, every nerve on edge.

She didn't even have to look to know Sam was watching her go.

Ali moved quickly, shoulders tense, trying to shake the lingering adrenaline from nearly getting flattened by a truck.

But Sam wasn't done with her.

His footsteps echoed against the pavement as he caught up to her, long strides easily closing the distance. "Ali."

She ignored him, picking up the pace.

"Ali!" His hand wrapped around her arm, pulling her to a stop.

She yanked her arm free, spinning around to glare at him. "Are you following me?"

Sam didn't even try to deny it. "Yeah. I was making sure you didn't do something stupid."

Her nostrils flared. "Oh, great. You're worse than Dean," she huffed. "I can't even take a walk without you babysitting me now?"

"Not when your idea of a walk involves playing dodge the semi," Sam shot back, voice sharper now.

Ali exhaled angrily, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets. "I had it under control."

Sam gave her a look—the kind that said he wasn't buying a single word. "Bullshit."

Ali's fingers curled into fists inside her pockets. She wasn't used to this kind of pushback from Sam. It was usually his older brother that liked to tell her what to do. But Sam now acting this way, well. It made her realise how worried he must really be.

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face, exhaling hard before his tone softened. "Ali. What the hell is this all about?"

She hesitated, looking away.

Sam stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Come on. Talk to me."

Ali chewed the inside of her cheek, then finally sighed. "I was hoping he'd show up."

Sam's brow furrowed. "Who?"

She gave him a pointed look. "The guy I told you about."

Realisation flickered over Sam's face before it twisted into frustration. "Ali, you haven't seen him in months. Why the hell would he suddenly show up now?"

Ali hesitated, then bit her lip. "…Because I saw him."

Sam's expression darkened instantly. "What?"

She looked away, arms crossed over her chest. "Christmas Eve."

Sam let out a short, disbelieving breath, shaking his head. "And you're just telling me this now?"

Ali's gaze snapped back to his, eyes flashing. "I've been a little preoccupied, Sam."

His jaw clenched. He knew exactly what she meant.

Tyler.

The name hung between them, unspoken but heavy.

Ali set her jaw, trying to ignore the way her chest tightened at the thought of him.

Sam pressed his lips together, then exhaled slowly. "I know you're still hurting because of what happened," he said, voice quieter now. "But you can't hide this kind of stuff. It's dangerous."

Ali scoffed, shaking her head. "You don't get it, Sam. I think this guy could help Dean."

Sam's brows shot up. "Help Dean? How?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "But he's saved my ass before. He's watching me for a reason."

Sam shook his head. "If he's so eager to help, how come he never shows up when we're on a hunt? You got pretty hurt by that revenant last week."

Ali hesitated. Then, finally, she said, "Maybe he only shows up when I'm alone."

That shut Sam up.

For a long moment, they just stood there, the night air thick with unspoken thoughts.

Ali crossed her arms tighter over her chest, shifting her weight. "Look, I don't have all the answers, okay? But I know what I saw. And I know that if I'm ever gonna figure out who this guy is… I need to be alone when he shows up."

Sam's jaw tensed like he wanted to argue, but he didn't.

Instead, he let out a slow, frustrated exhale and rubbed a hand down his face.

"…Just promise me," he said finally, "next time something like this happens, you tell me."

Ali hesitated—then gave him a short, reluctant nod.

For now, that was the best she could do.

The drive to Ohio was long, and the tension in the car was even longer. There had been new developments in their quest to breaking Dean's deal. On a recent hunt that Ali hadn't been allowed to go on, Ruby had showed up, revealing that the demons are now following a new demon, Lillith, a powerful new leader who apparently wanted Sam dead. If that wasn't bad enough, they'd lost The Colt.

"That bitch," Ali had muttered when Sam had told her Bela was the one to steal it from them.

Now, she was sitting in the back of the Impala, body tense as she stared out the window. Dean had made it very clear from the moment Bobby handed them the case that he didn't want Ali coming along. He hadn't said it outright—he wasn't that stupid—but his glances, his clipped responses, the way he looked at her every time she shifted in her seat like he was waiting for her to groan in pain… it was all the same damn thing.

Ali, however, wasn't having it.

"I still don't see why you have to come," Dean grumbled from the driver's seat, his fingers tapping restlessly against the wheel.

Ali, slouched in the backseat, raised an eyebrow. "I don't see why I need your permission."

Dean's jaw clenched. "That's not what I said."

"Sure sounded like it."

Sam sighed from the passenger seat, clearly already exhausted by the argument. "Guys—"

"No, no, let's hash this out," Ali said, leaning forward. "Dean, if you wanna bench me, just say it. But we both know that's not gonna happen."

Dean's grip on the wheel tightened. "I'm just saying you're still recovering. And I don't feel like dragging your sorry ass back to the car when you collapse halfway through the job."

Ali let out a humourless laugh. "That's rich coming from you. Remind me how many times I've had to patch you up?"

Dean exhaled sharply through his nose but didn't argue.

Sam, clearly wanting to defuse things before they escalated, turned to Ali. "Just… be careful, alright?"

Ali rolled her eyes. "Always am."

Dean muttered something under his breath, but let the conversation die.

The town was small, quiet, the kind of place that felt like it had been stuck in time. They'd checked into a dingy motel just outside of town, where they could lay low and figure out their plan of attack.

The case itself was strange. People were getting phone calls from their dead loved ones, voices pulling them in, making them kill themselves. Bobby suspected it was a crocotta—a creature that fed off human despair, luring people in with the voices they most wanted to hear.

Ali had been through a lot of weird hunts, but this one? This one sat wrong with her.

She wasn't sure why.

Maybe because, deep down, she knew exactly how dangerous something like this could be.

That night, they split up. Sam and Ali went to check out the phone company while Dean hit the police station, digging into the reports of suicides. It was quiet work, nothing she couldn't handle—just watching Sa, flash a badge and, sweet-talking a receptionist, and slipping out with copies of phone records.

By the time they got back to the motel, Dean was already there, sifting through his own findings.

"We were right," Sam said, rubbing his temple. "Phone calls are coming from a single location—the local phone company."

Dean tossed a beer bottle cap onto the table. "We go in tomorrow, find the son of a bitch, and gank it."

Ali nodded absently, still flipping through her papers. "The victims all reported the same thing—someone close to them, calling them, telling them things only they would know." She frowned. "If this thing's imitating people… how is it getting the details?"

"That's the million-dollar question," Dean muttered.

The conversation continued, but Ali was barely listening. Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

Unknown number.

Her stomach twisted.

She shouldn't answer.

She knew that.

And yet, before she could stop herself, she swiped to accept.

"…Ali?"

The room around her blurred.

She knew that voice.

No. No, it wasn't possible.

She gripped the phone tighter. "Tyler?"

A shaky breath on the other end. "Ali… it's me."

Something in her chest cracked open. She held her breath.

It wasn't real. She knew that. But hearing his voice—so familiar, so him—sent a flood of emotions rushing through her, emotions she had been trying so damn hard to bury.

She felt Dean's gaze snap to her. Sam, too. But she didn't look at them.

"I—" Her voice wavered. "This isn't real."

A soft chuckle. "I thought you'd say that."

Her breath hitched.

"Ali," the voice said, softer now, almost pleading. "I didn't want to go. I didn't want to leave you."

Her fingers tightened around the phone.

The rage came fast, cutting through the grief, cutting through everything.

She shot up from the bed, knocking over the stack of papers. "You son of a bitch."

Dean was already standing. "Ali—"

She ignored him.

"You think this is funny?" she spat into the receiver. "You think pretending to be my brother is gonna work? That I'll fall for this bullshit?"

A pause.

Then, the voice—Tyler's voice—sighed.

"I don't blame you for what happened, Ali."

Something snapped inside her. She threw the phone against the wall. The sound of it shattering barely registered.

The room was silent.

Ali stood there, breathing hard, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

Sam and Dean just stared.

Dean's face was unreadable, but Sam—Sam just looked sad.

"Ali," Sam started carefully, but she shook her head, cutting him off.

"I'm fine," she muttered, turning away, shoving her hands through her hair.

Neither of them believed her. And honestly? Neither did she.

The air in the motel room was thick with tension. The shattered remains of Ali's phone lay scattered across the floor, but no one moved to pick them up. She was half expecting Dean to make some sarcastic remark about how she hadn't had the phone for long, but he didn't. The silence dragged on further.

He was the first to break the silence.

"That's it," Dean said, voice clipped. "We're ganking this thing tonight."

Sam hesitated. "Dean—"

"No," Dean snapped. "It's screwing with us, and I'm not letting it get another shot at Ali."

Ali exhaled sharply, shaking off the lingering chill of the call. "I don't need you protecting me, Dean."

Dean turned to her, eyes dark. "Yeah? Then why'd you throw your damn phone against the wall?"

Ali flinched. He had a point. She hated that he had a point.

"Look," Sam said, stepping between them, "the crocotta has to be close. If it's imitating people so well, it must be gathering information somehow."

Ali crossed her arms, jaw tight. "Then let's find out how."

The plan was simple: find the source of the calls, flush out the crocotta, and kill it.

Ali and Sam took the main floor while Dean checked out the basement. The building was dimly lit, the buzzing of old fluorescent lights filling the silence. Every shadow felt deeper than it should have, every sound more threatening.

Ali was still running on adrenaline from the call. It felt like fire in her veins, keeping her from sinking back into the grief that threatened to drag her under.

Sam moved ahead of her, scanning the rows of old phone servers. "The call came from here. There has to be a terminal or something it's using."

Ali barely heard him. She still had Tyler's voice in her head. The way he'd spoken so softly, the way he'd said her name—like he was really there. Like he was still her big brother.

She clenched her fists and forced herself to focus.

Sam let out a frustrated sigh, checking another terminal. "Nothing."

Then, a phone rang.

They both turned sharply.

It was coming from the far end of the room.

Ali's heart pounded as she stepped forward, Sam right beside her.

The phone was old, one of those clunky landlines with a cord.

Ali's stomach twisted.

Sam reached out to stop her. "Ali—"

She ignored him and picked up the receiver.

Silence.

Then—

"Ali…"

Her breath hitched.

It was Tyler. Again.

No. Not Tyler.

Her grip tightened on the phone.

"You're not him," she said coldly.

A pause. Then, a soft chuckle. "Oh, Ali… you still don't get it, do you?"

A sick feeling curled in her gut.

"You did this," the voice continued, sweet and taunting. "You killed me, Ali. With your own hands."

Ali's vision blurred with fury.

"Shut up."

"You could've saved me. You should have saved me."

"SHUT UP!"

She slammed the phone down, chest heaving.

Sam was watching her carefully. "Ali…"

Before she could respond, they heard the sound of something shifting—a scraping noise from the darkened hallway beyond the servers.

They weren't alone.

Sam moved first, gun raised, and Ali followed. They moved carefully down the hall, the air thick with static electricity. She grew more and more restless as they creeped down the corridor, before finally pushing passed Sam and charging ahead.

"Ali, wait!" he hissed from behind her, but she ignored his warnings.

Then—movement.

A dark figure lunged from the shadows. Ali barely had time to react before she was slammed against the wall, pain exploding through her ribs.

The crocotta.

It had the face of an average man—wiry build, grinning with sharp teeth—but its eyes were all wrong.

"Poor little Ali," it hissed. "Still trying to run from the truth?"

Ali gritted her teeth and drove her knee into its gut, shoving it back.

Sam fired, but the crocotta ducked, knocking Sam's gun away and sending it clattering across the floor.

Ali went for her knife, but the creature was fast, striking her across the ribs and sending her stumbling back. Pain flared through her side, but she didn't stop—she couldn't.

The crocotta lunged for Sam, knocking him to the ground, claws outstretched—

A gunshot rang out.

The creature jerked, a spray of dark blood hitting the floor.

Dean.

He stood in the doorway, gun still aimed, eyes blazing with fury. "You sons of bitches never know when to quit, do you?"

The crocotta snarled, but it was injured, slower now.

Ali didn't hesitate. She grabbed her knife and drove it into the thing's chest, twisting the blade deep.

The crocotta gasped, its form shuddering, before it collapsed. But Ali didn't stop. She just kept stabbing. Over and over. Even after the thing stopped moving. Even after it was already dead.

Dean had to physically pull her off it. "Ali, it's dead!"

She wrenched out of his grip, chest heaving, face twisted in fury. "Yeah, I killed it."

Dean stared at her. "That's not the damn point."

Ali scowled. "The hell does that mean?"

Dean ran a hand through his hair, his patience running thin. "It means you're reckless, Ali. You're not thinking, you're just throwing yourself into danger like you want to get killed!"

Ali's jaw clenched. "I knew what I was doing."

"No, you didn't." Dean took a step closer, his voice tight. "And when you run ahead like that, it's not just yourself you put in danger. You keep acting like none of this matters, like you don't matter, and it's gonna get you killed."

Ali's hands curled into fists. "Maybe I don't give a damn."

Silence.

Dean's face darkened. He just stared at her, disbelief at her words.

Ali's chest still rose and fell rapidly, adrenaline still burning in her veins.

Dean shook his head, his voice quieter now. "You think throwing yourself into every fight is gonna make it easier? That if you hit something hard enough, it'll stop hurting?"

Ali said nothing.

Sam recovered from his it, standing up, breathless. "What the hell, Ali?"

Dean exhaled sharply, turning away. "We're done here."

Ali stayed where she was, fists still clenched at her sides. She felt raw, her skin burning with frustration, anger—at herself, at Dean, at everything.

Sam looked between them, concern flickering in his eyes. "Ali?"

She swallowed hard, wiping the blood off her knife. "Let's just go."

She didn't wait for them. She just walked out, leaving the conversation behind.

The flickering motel sign outside bathed the room in an eerie red glow, casting shifting shadows against the thin curtains. The air inside was thick with exhaustion, the kind that settled in your bones after a hunt. Sam sat at the table, flipping absently through an old lore book, while Dean rummaged through the mini fridge for a beer.

Ali, however, lingered by the door, arms wrapped tightly around herself. The fabric of her shirt clung uncomfortably to her side, damp with something warm and sticky. She knew what it was. She also knew she wasn't about to let Sam or Dean see it.

She just needed to get to the bathroom. Wash up. Deal with it herself.

Taking a careful step forward, she clenched her jaw against the sharp pull in her side. The pain flared, hot and biting, but she kept moving, trying to make it seem like nothing was wrong. She could feel their eyes on her, watching, waiting.

"You alright?" Dean asked, not even looking at her as he twisted off the cap of his beer.

Ali forced a smirk. "Peachy."

Sam glanced up from his book, frowning. His gaze dropped to her side, lingering just a second too long.

Dean took a swig of his beer and finally turned toward her. "Ali—"

"I'm gonna take a shower," she cut in, already moving.

She didn't get far.

The moment she took another step, the pain surged—her legs wobbled beneath her, and the dizziness hit her like a freight train. She faltered, one hand catching the dresser to steady herself.

It wasn't enough.

Dean was on his feet in an instant. "Whoa—okay, what the hell?"

Ali clenched her jaw. "I'm fine."

"Uh-huh," Dean deadpanned, already stepping toward her. "Yeah, you look real fine."

Sam stood too, concern tightening his features. "Ali, what's going on?"

She exhaled sharply, forcing herself upright. "Nothing. I just need to—"

Dean's eyes dropped to her side, his beer abandoned on the table now. He didn't need to see much—just the way her shirt clung a little too darkly, the way her posture was a little too stiff—to put the pieces together.

His expression darkened. "You're bleeding."

Ali's pulse kicked up. "It's not bad."

Sam took a step closer. "Ali—"

She shook her head, pushing off the dresser and heading toward the bathroom again. "I said I'm fine."

She made it two steps before her vision swam.

Dean caught her before she could hit the floor.

"Jesus, Ali," he muttered, steadying her with firm hands. "You wanna tell me again how fine you are?"

Ali clenched her teeth, trying to push him away, but her body betrayed her. The pain in her side sharpened, and she sucked in a breath through her nose, stubbornly fighting against the wave of dizziness.

Dean's grip didn't loosen. If anything, it got firmer.

"Alright," he said, voice clipped with frustration. "Sit your ass down before you faceplant."

She wanted to argue, to shove him off and prove she didn't need their help, but the truth was, her legs weren't cooperating. With an exasperated sigh, she let him ease her onto the bed.

Sam crouched down in front of her, his gaze scanning her with a quiet, careful concern. "Ali, let us see."

She swallowed hard, shaking her head. "It's nothing—"

Dean crouched beside Sam, fixing her with a look that could burn through steel. "Ali. Now."

She hesitated, fingers curling around the hem of her shirt.

They weren't going to let this go. And honestly, she wasn't sure how much longer she could keep up the act.

With a quiet breath, she slowly pulled her shirt up, revealing the deep gash slashed across her side. Blood had smeared across her skin, some of it dried, some of it still fresh. The wound was jagged, torn from the creature's claws, and stretched dangerously close to her ribs.

Dean swore under his breath. "You have to be kidding me."

Sam winced. "Ali, why didn't you tell us?"

She shrugged weakly. "Didn't want to slow us down."

Dean's jaw clenched, fingers digging into his knees. "Right. Because bleeding out mid-hunt wouldn't have slowed us down at all."

Ali rolled her eyes. "I wasn't bleeding out."

Dean let out a sharp, humourless laugh. "Oh, my bad. Just heavily bleeding, then."

Sam exhaled, rubbing his hands over his face. "Alright. You need stitches."

Ali groaned. "Fantastic."

Dean reached into his bag, grabbing the first aid kit before tossing her something else—a flask. "Drink."

Ali caught it and raised an eyebrow.

Dean gave her a pointed look. "Trust me, you're gonna want it."

With a sigh, she unscrewed the cap and took a long swig. The whiskey burned its way down her throat, warm and numbing, and she could already feel the edges of her pain dulling.

She gripped the whiskey flask tightly in her hand, her shirt now abandoned on the chair beside her. The gash along her ribs burned, the torn skin throbbing with each breath, but she set her jaw and kept still as Dean threaded the needle.

He crouched beside her, letting out a sharp exhale as he held up the needle and thread. "You know, Ali, for someone who hates being stitched up, you sure as hell don't do a great job at avoiding getting ripped open."

Ali gave him a tight smile. "And for someone who hates being a nag, you sure as hell don't do a great job at shutting up."

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, well, forgive me for thinking you might actually wanna survive a damn hunt." He grabbed a cotton swab, dabbing at the wound with disinfectant.

Ali hissed through her teeth, her fingers curling into the sheets. "Son of a—"

Dean didn't look the least bit sympathetic. "Oh, suck it up, princess."

Dean grabbed the needle and thread. "Alright. This is gonna suck. Try not to scream."

Ali shot him a glare. "Oh, bite me."

Dean smirked. "Pass."

Then the needle went in.

The pain was instant, a sharp pull and sting that had her gripping the bedsheets. She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to breathe through it, but damn, it hurt.

Dean worked fast, his fingers steady, his expression unreadable. "You're an idiot, you know that?"

Ali exhaled through the pain. "You've mentioned."

Dean wasn't amused. "You could've told us."

Ali forced a smirk, voice tight. "Wouldn't have been as fun watching you panic."

Dean tugged the next stitch a little tighter. She swore under her breath, fingers gripping the bed tighter. "You're enjoying this."

Dean's jaw tightened harder, and he met her gaze with a look she didn't see very often, his voice low and serious. "You think I enjoy seeing you like this?" Ali squirmed under his stare before he finally broke eye contact, getting back to work.

Dean's expression softened—just slightly. "Look, I get it, alright? You don't wanna be treated like you're fragile. But this isn't about pride, Ali. You almost bled out tonight. That's not badass, that's stupid."

Ali looked away, focusing on the half-empty whiskey bottle in her hands.

Sam sighed, reaching into the first aid kit and pulling out a small bottle. "Here," he said, handing it to Ali. "It'll help with the pain."

Ali glanced at the painkillers and shook her head. "I'm good."

Sam frowned. "Ali—"

"I said I'm good."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Oh for—just take the damn pills."

Ali glared at him. "I don't need them."

Dean tugged the next stitch extra tight. Ali's breath hitched, her eyes watering against her will.

Dean smirked. "Oh, I'm sorry—was that uncomfortable?"

Ali's nostrils flared. "You're a dick."

Dean grinned. "And you're an idiot, so I guess we're even."

Sam, clearly tired of their bickering, held the pills out again, voice quieter this time. "Ali. Just take them."

Ali exhaled slowly, her pride warring with the very real pain screaming through her ribs. After a long moment, she grabbed the bottle from Sam, twisting the cap off and shaking out two pills.

Dean gave her a smug look. "See? Was that so hard?"

Ali downed the pills with a swig of whiskey and shot him a glare. "I hope you get mauled on the next hunt."

Dean snorted, tightening the last stitch. "Alright. Done."

Ali let out a slow breath. "Finally."

Dean grabbed the whiskey flask and took a swig himself before handing it back to her. "That was the dumbest thing you've done all week."

Ali smirked faintly. "It's only Tuesday."

Dean huffed, shaking his head. "You're impossible."

Ali leaned forward, breathing through the pain that still lingered. "Now that that's over… we need to talk about Lilith."

Dean exhaled, running a hand over his face. "Yeah. Lilith."

Ali shifted, still feeling the dull ache of the stitches. "Ruby said she's the one in charge now, right? The demons are following her?"

Sam nodded. "She's taken over where Azazel left off. She's building an army."

Dean's expression darkened. "And she seemed to think she might be able to help with my deal."

Ali met his gaze. "Then we find her."

Dean scoffed. "You make it sound so easy."

Ali's eyes hardened. "I already lost Tyler. I'm not losing you too."

Dean didn't answer that. Not directly. He just took another sip of whiskey.

Sam cleared his throat. "Tomorrow, we start looking into her movements. If she's gathering demons, there's gotta be a trail."

Ali nodded, exhaustion creeping in now that the adrenaline was gone.

Dean pointed at her. "And you—ice pack. Now."

Ali rolled her eyes. "Yes, Dad."

Dean huffed, shaking his head as he took another swig of whiskey.

For now, at least, the conversation was over. But they all knew this was just the beginning.

AN: Let me know what you thought!

Next up - Ali's reckless behaviour escalates further, and this time, the consequences are far worse...