Auggie Anderson, covert CIA operative, closed the door to his apartment with a sigh of relief. It had been a somewhat stressful day - Annie Walker, the newbie operative under his guidance, had been sent to Russia to trade intel with a reporter. The reporter had been shot with a sniper before he could make the trade, and it had taken all of Auggie's skill and instinct to get Annie out of there safely. Now she was on a plane back, and he was planning on taking a well-deserved rest.

He made his way expertly to the little kitchenette in his apartment, pulling open his fridge and grabbing a cold bottle of beer. He twisted the cap and took a swig, leaning against the kitchen counter. It was only then that he heard a noise in his apartment.

Auggie froze. The door had been locked when he arrived. The window that led to the fire escape was always locked. But it sounded like something... had been moved.

His CIA training took over. He pretended like he hadn't noticed anything was wrong and took another drink of beer, while feeling behind him for his silverware drawer. The knives were on the very left, handles facing out so he wouldn't accidentally cut himself. He selected one and pulled it out slowly, keeping it concealed behind his back. And then he waited, listening intently.

There was nothing but silence for ten long minutes, and he finally decided that it had just been the building creaking. He didn't let go of the knife, though. He brought it along to his living room area and put it within easy reach on the table in front of him. Then he drank his beer and reached for the remote.

His hand groped nothing but empty space.

Auggie let his hand wander over the surface of the table and finally grabbed the knife again. He was extremely meticulous about where he put things - he had to be. Nothing was more annoying when you were blind than setting something down and forgetting where you put it later. That required exploration of every surface, every couch cushion, and even then you could miss it. He always put his remote in the same place. That it was gone meant that someone had been in his apartment.

At that moment his home phone rang, scaring him so badly that he almost dropped the knife. He swore quietly to himself, stumbling up and tracing his way along his walls to the kitchen. "Annie Walker," the phone told him. Auggie grabbed the phone with one hand. "Hello?"

"Hey, Auggie," said the agent's cheerful voice. Then she paused. "You sound out of breath."

He sighed. "It's been a long day. Your plane just land?"

"Yeah. Actually, I'm almost to my car. I was wondering if you were in the mood for some drinks."

Auggie was about to say no - he really was exhausted - when he reconsidered. "Sure. How about you come over to my apartment? I just bought a new bottle of Patron that I'm eager to open."

"You spoil me, Auggie," Annie laughed. "Be there in half an hour."

He hung up, the knife still gripped in his hand. He wasn't taking any chances until Annie could confirm that his apartment was completely empty.

She knocked about twenty-five minutes later. "Annie?" he called.

There was a pause. "You expecting anyone else?" she asked. He opened the door and leaned against it, his head following her movements as she walked in. Auggie heard the flick as she turned on the lights. "Pretty quiet in here."

He closed the door and locked it, and then turned. "Annie," he said quietly. "Would you mind doing a quick sweep of my apartment?"

When she spoke, her voice was startled. "Uh, sure." She must have noticed the knife in his hand. He waited tensely while she moved around his apartment, opening doors and closing them. Five minutes later she gave the all-clear.

Auggie sighed in relief and went to the kitchen to return the knife. "Sorry. I don't know if I'm stressed out or what, but I thought I heard someone in here. And then my remote went missing."

"Well, I solved that mystery, anyway. Your remote is on top of your TV."

He raised an eyebrow. He never put anything on top of his TV. "Huh. I guess I'm losing my memory, too. Thanks for checking, anyway." He pulled out the tequila and two glasses, and then joined Annie in the living room. A few hours later, his head buzzing pleasantly, he forgot all about the strange noises. Until the next day.

The warmth of sunlight on his face woke him. He turned over, stretching with a relaxed groan. Joan was giving him a well-deserved day off, and he intended to take advantage of it. Keeping his eyes closed, he pushed the covers off his bare chest and laced his hands behind his head, listening to the birds outside his window. He smiled a little, remembering the previous night. He and Annie always had a good time together, and last night had been no exception. His head was pounding a little from the tequila, but the night was always worth it.

He was about to climb out of bed and make a pot of coffee when something rattled in his kitchen.

Auggie froze, one hand fisted in his blanket and the other clutching the edge of his bed. It was the same type of noise he had heard before - something being moved. But Annie had done a sweep and no one had been there. He would have heard if someone tried to leave before she had arrived. Which meant that no one had been in his apartment last night... but there was definitely someone here now.

The noise came again, and confirmed that he wasn't hearing things. He even recognized it this time - his cupboards were opening and closing. His brow furrowed in confusion. If someone had broken in... why were they messing with his stuff? What exactly did they want?

He finally climbed out of bed, being as quiet as possible. He reached for his nightstand and felt around until he found what he wanted - his sound amplifier. He pulled the headphones over his ears carefully and turned it on, pointing the microphone in the direction of the kitchen.

Auggie didn't know what he had been expecting to hear, but a little kid's laughter wasn't it.

"Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack, all dressed in black, black, black with silver buttons, buttons, buttons all down her back, back, back..." It was definitely a young girl's voice, singing under her breath. He tugged the headphones off and listened again intently, but heard nothing. When the headphones came back on, the song was still being sung. "He jumped so high, high, high that he reached the sky, sky, sky and didn't come back, back, back til the fourth of July, ly, ly." The voice stopped singing, but he could still hear breathing. And then, in a moment, the noise was gone.

He fiddled with the amplifier for a moment, checking that it was still on. It was. All he could hear now was the loud hum of his refrigerator. What the hell was going on? One moment there had been someone in his kitchen, breathing, and then...

His eyes widened. Memories began to surface... memories that he hadn't bothered to think about in years. A few days... so many years ago. What were those names again?

Auggie piled the amplifier back on his table, not bothering to set it up nicely like he usually did. He scrambled out of bed and pulled on some lounge pants, almost knocking his head on the wall in the process. He forced himself to slow down, concentrating on getting to his kitchen without running into anything. His hand found the phone and he dialed a number from memory, his fingers not hesitating with the buttons.

Hundreds of miles away, the phone began to ring in Glencoe, Illinois. Auggie listened through one ring... two... three... Halfway through the fourth ring, the phone was picked up. "Hello?" said a weary voice.

"Mom? It's me."

"August?" She sounded more awake now. "Are you okay? It's five in the morning."

Oops. He hadn't bothered to check the time. And DC was an hour ahead of Glencoe, too. "I'm sorry, I forgot to check what time it was before I called. Everything's fine. I just... I need a favor."

She chuckled. "As long as it doesn't involve me leaving the house anytime soon, it's fine with me. What do you need, baby?"

As the youngest of five boys, he guessed he would never get her to stop calling him baby. Grinning, he ran his hands through his hair. "I need a phone number. It should be on that list you keep in the kitchen, in that left drawer? Unless you moved it."

"Moved away years ago and you still know where everything is," his mother marveled. "Okay, I've got it. What's the number you're looking for?"

"It'll be listed under Winchester."

He heard her mumbling to herself as she looked through the names. "So what's so important about this number that you have to call me at six in the morning your time to get it?"

Auggie stifled a sigh. "Nothing, I just... it's an old friend that I got to thinking about that I haven't called in a while. I'm really sorry about the early hour. I just assumed it was later, I guess."

There was a moment of silence, and he knew his mom had caught the lie. However, she didn't press it. "Winchester. John?"

"That's it." He had her recite the number twice, committing it to memory as she did so. "Thank you so much. Sorry for waking you up."

"Not a problem, baby. You take care." He heard the concern in her voice. She still worried about him, after the accident.

"You know I will." He ended the call, still holding the phone in his hands. His fingers skimmed lightly over the buttons, not pressing them. He didn't want to call unless he was sure, but... but if it was something like he had encountered when he was fourteen, then the Winchesters would be able to help.

He pushed the numbers, put the phone to his ear, and listened to the ring. He got a voicemail, which led him to another number. He had to call again to memorize the numbers, and dialed once more.