Title: Nine Months: One Hundred Sixty Eight Hours

Disclaimer: I do not own anything you recognize…

Warnings: Nope.

Notes: I changed the title because I thought a week, with more play by play of the hours is better than two weeks with a bit each day. And I'm sorry for lack of updates. My muses have disappeared. If you've got any ideas, let me know! :)

Enjoy!


"Sam, relax," Dean soothed. It was seven that night. Dean had rounded up his crew and brought them to Sam's house. Mackenzie was trying to calm Alexandrine while the kids watched TV in the living room. Sam was sitting in his office which looked much disheveled from the last time Dean was in it. He guessed that the younger had messed it up in a vain attempt to find anything that said where his daughters were. Dean was standing near the doorway, scanning the room: desk, chairs, bookshelves. The only thing that was out of place was the large salt line against the windows; Sam had salted every last bit of his house as soon as he saw the sulfur in his daughters' bedrooms.

"I can't, Dean," Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I can't."

"Yes you can. I'm calm, man. If I am, you can be too."

Sam's eyes snapped to the elder. "Your daughters aren't missing."

Knowing he was stepping on brittle ground, he replied, "If mine were, I would not be freaking the fuck out."

Sam stood quickly from his desk. "What?" There was venom in his voice.

Dean backed down. "Listen," he said. "We'll find them. I promise, Sammy."

"Why should I believe that, Dean," Sam asked. "We've gotten rid of almost all our weapons and books and crap. We're out of shape; we could easily miss something. And I don't even know if there's anything left to find of my daughters! How do I know some demon didn't just vaporize them on the spot? Plus-"

"Sam," Dean barked to get his brother's attention. Sam quieted. "Bobby's coming. He's got an arsenal in the back of his truck, not to mention the man's a living demonic library. Tamara's on her way too. They've been hunting non-stop. If we miss something, they'll catch it."

"Still," Sam continued, "I don't know if Isadora and Isabelle are even alive."

Dean gave his hard look at his brother. "You'd know if they weren't, Sam."

"How?"

"You just know," Dean answered in a tone that suggested he wasn't going into further detail. It killed him to talk about Rain or any of the feelings he had about his dead son. Sam nodded. Changing the subject slightly, Dean commanded, "Go over what happened again. I want to know every detail."

Sam sighed again and sat down. "I woke up at six. It was late; my girls are normally up at five thirty. I figured they were tired from the family day yesterday so I shrugged it off. I went downstairs and made myself a cup of coffee before turning on CNN. Alexandrine came down and went into the kitchen to make herself some tea. I decided the girls should wake up. It was about six thirty. When I opened Isabelle's door, I smelled the sulfur. She wasn't in bed. I panicked and ran into Isadora's room. She wasn't there either. I searched the whole house before calling you and then salting everything."

Dean nodded. He was about to reply when he heard a knock on the front door.

Back-up was here.