Part 5

Winning a few rounds of poker had helped Dean's ego, especially after dealing with the witch, but had done little to ease his mind. The case, Jim, the impending ceremony—it all swirled through his mind to create dreams about his mom.

He hadn't dreamed about her in a long time. It was like what the kids said, it was his mother making promises of something better. Something better could have been defined as any situation which didn't have Lucifer and Michael. Thankfully, he had The Brotherhood and his family.

Dean was contemplating the epiphany when Sam called out to him when he saw Dean in the hallway bed after he had been unable to fall back asleep. Dean thought a glass of milk could help. Sam was still up trying to prove himself, and Dean was not going to admonish him for staying up late. Sam was on a journey to redemption, and Dean was glad Sam was getting that chance.

The glass of milk helped him get back to sleep until his cell phone rang with Ethan on the other side.

"Morning, Sunshine."

Through Dean's bleary eyes, the alarm clock read just past six a.m.. "Damn, what time in the morning is it in Texas?" He moved up further on the pillow, not getting up, but feeling able to hold some sort of conversation.

"I never went to bed."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" Dean perked up a little bit, although Ethan and he did not have a relationship where they talked about notches in the bedpost, he still couldn’t help but ask.

Ethan laughed. "We got the bad guy."

Dean relaxed back in bed. "But didn't get the girl."

"Pretty much." Ethan sighed audibly. "I did get your info though." Dean's memory was refreshed. Caleb had called Ethan earlier. "Tamara Fieldings… from a small town in Oklahoma, graduated from the Royal Academy of Music, did some touring in the U.S. before playing with some symphonies in the Midwest. Shefollowed her husband to California and worked in a local high school, but they're divorced and she's now in New York City."

"And the other one?"

"From Montreal, Canada, went to the Paris Conservatoire, stayed in France with a small orchestra, then back to Canada, then New York City."

Dean did not see a pattern in either one. They may have the wrong women. "That doesn't help. I don't think it matches up to any of the information we collected."

"It's actually too pat, like what drug dealers invent. Nothing of substance. No one is that perfect."

"So you're saying concentrate on Nancy Pichler."

"That's what I would do." Dean detected a yawn behind the statement. "I'm counting this as my gift."

"Gift for what?" Dean closed his eyes. He was going to get back to sleep.

"The new Triad. Don't we have to pay tribute?"

"What?" His eyes were wide open now that his brain had translated what he’d heard. "No." Dean wanted this to be quiet. This was not like going to Hef's mansion for his birthday.

"But there's still a party afterwards. . ."

Dean groaned. This was worse than the demons being after him because he had a big Michael X on him. "There is?"

"According to Mac. . ."

"Fine, I gotta go." He was going to have to talk to Mac. He didn't realize there was going to be a celebration in light of what they were facing. Dean tried to get back to sleep, tossing and turning in 500 thread count sheets. He hated to part with the comfortable bed but he wasn't getting back to sleep with thoughts of a party with hunters marking their ascension. It was weird.

With the other occupants resting, Caleb's house was quiet. Dean made coffee while he searched the kitchen for food to make into a proper breakfast instead of ordering from the deli. An hour later he had a pile of pancakes as well as bacon on paper towels, sucking up the residual grease.

"Sweetheart, is that freshly squeezed?" Caleb entered, taking one of the three glasses of juice on the table.

"No," Dean replied, placing a few pancakes and a lot of syrup on his plate. "Did you know that after we become The Triad there's a party?"

Caleb coughed as the juice went down the wrong way. Dean was happy he had caught his friend by surprise. Despite still standing at the counter, he took a big forkful of pancakes, cutting through three layers.

"Who said?" Caleb asked when he had recovered.

"Ethan. He called and said to take a look at Nancy Pichler as our perp." Dean followed the pancakes with a gulp of coffee.

"Perp? Picking up that cop jargon? Needs some donuts?" Caleb grabbed a plate and piled it with bacon and pancakes.

"Shut up," Dean said with a mouthful of bacon, waving his fork at Caleb when Sam came down the stairs, hair mussed and sticking out at the sides.

"Point that somewhere else." Sam marched to the coffee pot, ignoring the other food. His brother needed a caffeine fix first, especially after staying up late to research. It reminded Dean of when Sam was younger and studying for a big test he just had to do well on.

"Hey, Sammy, what did you find last night? Because Ethan gave us a lead." Dean took a seat, using his foot he pushed out the other chair for Sam to sit.

Sam scratched the top of his head before picking a piece of bacon from the plate. "I think cutting off her head might do it."

"Isn't that the default for most things?" Caleb took a seat.

"For good reason," Sam replied as he filled his plate and sat down, too.

"So,” Caleb said, waving his piece of bacon, “how do we want to go after Nancy?"

"Pay her a visit." Dean had finished his breakfast and was placing the dish in the sink.

"Does she have office hours?" Sam interjected. "I mean she probably has them listed on the school's website."

Caleb hit the back of Sam's head, not really messing up his hair at all. "Way to use the brain, Einstein."

Dean smiled at the old nickname. He started to make his way to the doorway. He needed to take a shower to get the smell of pancakes off of him. "I cooked, you two clean."

"I think it's a job for The Knight," Sam replied and Dean thought he heard the scuffing of chairs and the beginnings of a wrestling match.

A bang on the bathroom door after a half hour told him to hurry up. Professor Nancy Pichler had late morning office hours. They had missed morning traffic to get to Lincoln Center where Juilliard was located, but construction in the area made pedestrian traffic heavier.

"They modernized the Revson Fountain," Caleb announced, pausing by the splashing water.

"You're geeking out, aren't you?" Dean bumped his friend's shoulder to get him moving. Sam was already a few steps ahead.

"Totally." Caleb moved his head to each of the different buildings. "Six different architects worked here."

Dean looked at the buildings and how they differed, especially where they were adding grass to a low roof, but this wasn't his interest. He wasn't a city boy with its stifling cement.

Juilliard was straight ahead, and they were not questioned when they entered the building. Looking on the map, they easily found Nancy's office. There was a row of private offices some with a nameplate, some with a plastic card with multiple names on the door. Nancy's door was one with a laminated card on it. The door was slightly ajar with a faint tinkling noise emanating from inside.

Dean knocked and entered at the same time, while Sam and Caleb followed. The room was the size of a large closet and barely held the three men.

A petite blonde woman turned from the computer. "Can I help you?" She studied them with a soft frown, causing her eyebrows to turn up slightly. "Are you in my classes?"

Dean's attention was grasped by the open music box with a ballerina twirling inside in time to the music. The music was the Mozart symphony that the children had told them about. The box itself looked old, dark wood with an intricate pattern he tried to memorize, but kept getting lost and having to restart.

"No, ma'am, we're not," Sam replied smoothly. "We're interested in forming-"

"A jazz trio," Caleb added.

Dean frowned at Caleb's choice. He would not have chosen jazz.

She tilted her head and her long hair fell to the side. She gave them a small smile. "Well, I think you should speak to –"

"You," Dean interjected, pulling his attention from the ornate music box although it was difficult. "Because of your reputation."

"My reputation?" Nancy asked in a soothing tone, one which confused him, taking away his thoughts against this woman. "Why don't you all take a seat so we can talk?"

Sam immediately took one of two chairs in the office. When Caleb took the other, Dean was left with a compulsion to fulfill Nancy’s invitation, but he was forced to settle with leaning against the wall.

"You have a reputation of teaching music to children," Sam answered.

"Yes, because I love children." She blinked and Sam seemed to blink in unison with her. "Do you know some of the children that I have taught?"

A haze seemed to descend before Dean's eyes, softening the edges of the room. When he studied Nancy she looked familiar, reminiscent of someone. Dean fell into a lull where he wanted to blurt out Matty's name, but kept his mouth tight as he felt the need to protect the children and heed their warning.

"N-no, just word of mouth." Caleb fought the answer, and Dean was relieved for a moment.

Nancy stood. She was wearing a light pink dress, which flared out from her waist in soft folds. "What are your names?" She spoke lovingly, like a mother to her child..

Sam's eyes darted to Dean, then to Caleb. "I'm Sam, that's Caleb and my brother, Dean."

Dean nodded his head wanting to please her and hoping she would say his name.

"Why are you here?"

"Because we're hunters," Dean replied. She walked over to him and placed her hand against his cheek.

"You're a good boy, Dean."

"No!" Caleb abruptly darted up, pulling Sam up with him. "Stop it!"

Sam tried to wiggle out of Caleb's grasp. "But I want to stay. . ." Sam whined.

Dean noticed the ruckus but still felt the warmth of her hand. Yet Caleb wanted his attention, Dean blinked.

"Deuce, she's not your mom. You hear me; she's not your mom or my mom."

He felt a wave of nausea when the haze lifted for a moment. The hand against his cheek did not belong to his mother, but to a stranger. Dean pushed her away and slammed the music box closed, stifling the ballerina mid-turn as he rushed out behind Caleb and Sam.

Dean took one last look back at Nancy, seeing her for who she was and not what she represented. They made purposeful strides down the hall until they were outside, past the fountain and mingling with the crowd. Finally, they stopped against a building.

"What the hell was that?" Dean asked. He glanced to his brother. "She reminded me of mom, just like those kids said. . ."

"It did look like her. From my dreams from before. . ." Sam didn't continue, which meant they were from his time in detox. Sam had told Dean about their mother's visitation, hallucination, support of her son. In the throes of panic, Sam wanted his mother's reassurance and unconditional love. When Sam had met their mother at the house in Lawrence he held on to the ghost who had saved him, sacrificed herself for him.

Caleb shook his head. "She was like my mom, dark hair-"

"Blonde," Dean and Sam said at the same time.

"Shit," Caleb replied, wiping a hand down his mouth.

Dean gestured for them to start walking, the waves of people around them reminded him too much of the stifling, cloying air of Nancy’s tiny office.

When they had the sidewalk to themselves Sam commented, "Well, good news is we figured out who our Pied Piperess is, bad news is that she knows we're after her, and got to us enough that she reminded us of our moms."

"Did you catch that music box? The song?" Dean asked, itching for a pencil and paper to sketch what he remembered.

"That has to have something to do with it," Caleb remarked. "We still have to follow her, find the girl who she’s after."

"So let’s go back now," Sam said.

"And do what?" countered Dean. "Three guys drag a teacher off campus? Or maybe just whack her head off there in her office? She's smart enough to not have been caught yet; let's hope our brilliant Stooges act back there didn’t spook her into disappearing."

"He’s right," Caleb said, "maybe a little breathing room will get her feeling cocky."

Dean stopped. They were a distance away. No one was following them. "We're going to have to split up. We have to take her out and the music box to be sure." He looked up to find they were near a café. He could use a coffee to cobble a plan together and caffeinate his mind to distract him from thinking about his mother.

After his black coffee, Sam's latte and Caleb's espresso, they returned to Lincoln Center. Dean thought Sam was interested in the cloak and dagger stuff as much as Mac. They had split up in Lincoln Center, each taking a different point, keeping watch at the doors of Juilliard for Nancy Pichler to make her exit. They needed to find her student, the little girl who was her next victim, and take care of the music box.

She exited, wearing a dark coat covering her dress, which Dean realized was reminiscent of the bathrobe he last saw his mother wearing. Sam gave him a nod and picked up after her as did Caleb. Dean was going back to her office for the music box.

For a school based on music, there was a limit on the sound. He wondered if they had invested in significant soundproofing. Dean walked confidently, as if he was supposed to be there. He came to Nancy's closed door.

He kept the lock picking tools covered by his body, popping the lock in fifteen seconds. He closed the door quietly behind him, studying the office. Dean saw the music box where it had been before, but did not rush to take it, making sure to extend his senses. He didn't have Sam and Caleb's psychic abilities, but he had been hunting since he was ten, and learned never to rush into a situation. There were also possible clues about Nancy Pichler. He went to her desk first, skimming the top, opening the drawers, but finding nothing personal.

The music box was still there, and he tucked it under his jacket, feeling the warm wood against his ribs. As he exited the school he called Sam. "I've got it. How's it going for you guys?"

"We're about ten minutes away, typical condo building but Caleb says it’s a place she can't afford on a college professor's salary."

"Does he think it's the victim’s place?" If she lived in a high-rise however there could be an issue of confirming and getting a visual.

"He's going to check it out."

Thankfully this was Caleb's town and he could maneuver around people better here. Twenty plus floors with security involving high-end kids was complicated. Dean had a momentary flashback to his maternal grandfather when he had come to take Sammy away. "Okay, I'll call you when I'm done and we can meet up."

In broad daylight in New York City, Dean could not destroy the music box the way he wanted to. He headed towards Caleb's residence. He wrinkled his nose at the subway system, recalling the map from memory to know where to get off.

It was strange to go into Caleb's home without Caleb being present. The space felt empty without the warm energy he associated with his friend. Dean searched a few cupboards before locating what he was after and making his way to the small, postage stamp-sized backyard. Into the metal trashcan he dropped the music box with a heavy clunk, squirted the lighter fluid and dropped a match.

He watched it burn, listening for anything unnatural, but there was nothing but the smell of butane and burning wood. Dean texted Sam to find out if there was any reaction with Nancy Pichler.