It's hard to keep from looking too jittery; gut-deep fear's got no place here, not right now.

Dean almost jumps out of his skin when Bobby talks, but covers it with a quick nod.

Okay, here goes nothin'.

"Where's our father, Meg?"

Like it's gonna be that easy.

He's almost expecting the slow, poisonously sweet smile. "You didn't ask very nice."

Yeah, that just nets her a quick, hard, smirk.

"Where's our father, bitch?"

Meg--whatever Meg is--widens her eyes, looking shocked. "Jeez, you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

Beat.

"Oh, wait. I forgot. You don't."

Okay. That's it. Fucking bitch.

"You think this is a freakin' game?"

He lunges toward her, arms on the chair, bracketing her in. A real girl would've been pissing her pants right now. He feels sick to his stomach.

"Where is he? What'd you do to him?"

She's all oily charm when she answers back. "He died screaming." Satisfaction oozes from her smile. "I killed him myself."

Dean pauses for half a second, face gone stiff and cold.

Then he backhands her across the face.

No one says shit about his Dad.

No one.