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Trapped

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Mary wakes up to a strange noise on the baby monitor. It sounds almost like a baby crying. No longer sleepy, she gets out of bed, taking a sheathed knife with her. "John?" she whispers. She repeats it again, louder, as she makes her way down the hall to Sammy's room.

The TV is on downstairs, quiet, and she breathes a sigh of relief. John's okay. If he was in trouble, or had heard anything, he'd have turned the volume up to grab her attention.

But she can still hear a pained sound from the bedroom, so she approaches, feet light on the squeakier floorboards. The door to the nursery is open, so she leans back against the wall and peeks inside.

Her baby boy is awake, and crying gently; it's the sound that woke her up. That's not the pained sound, which is coming from a man standing in the middle of the room, pressing and pushing against the air like it's a solid wall. Her smile is wicked and wide when she sees his eyes flash yellow. She steps into the room, and watches his confused expression as he spots her with no small amount of glee. Then, still slightly confused, he smiles.

"Hello, Mary," he says.

"Azazel."

He whistles, impressed. "You figured out my name?"

"I figured out a lot of things."

"I can see that," he says, pushing at the barrier the devil's trap induces. It doesn't budge; countless hours Mary spent perfecting the trap makes sure of that. Mary smiles, walks around the trap and over to Sammy's crib. She pulls him out, soothes his fussing with a few gentle words, and walks back out of the room.

"We had a deal, Mary," he says carefully as she leaves. "You know how deals work. If you don't come through on your end of the bargain, I can take back what I did." She freezes, and he smiles at her back.

Then she says, in a chillingly cold voice, "I let you in my house, as promised. I never said I was ever going to let you out again."

In the ensuing silence she goes down the hall to put Sammy to bed with Dean.


"John," she calls out a short time later, running downstairs, pulling on a thick leather jacket. He looks up from the TV, double taking at the knife in her hand. "John, could you do me a favor and take off work tomorrow?" she asks. "I need to drive up north tonight, and somebody needs to watch the kids."

"Sure thing, Mary," he says, standing up and looking her over. "What's going on?"

"Oh, nothing much," she says, grinning to herself. "I just need to see a man about a Colt."