Meg looked up at the wayward stranger approaching her table. She was immediately tense in anticipation. His breath, stained with cigars and the fume of tobacco wafted under her nose and she cringed slightly.

"So," the other began, "explain to me again how you failed?"

"Sam, he was more resourceful than I expected, his flare drove away the Shadows long enough for them to escape. I promise I won't fail again, just, give me a second chance, next time the Shadows will kill them right away instead of just toying with them! I won't make—"

He silenced her with a wave of his hand and she shrunk back into her seat.

"There may not be a next time!" he gave her no chance to reply, "you've already given them enough warning! I'm absolutely shocked you didn't manage to screw up even more and reveal that you didn't die! In case you haven't noticed, John is going to be a hell of a lot more aware now; he won't fall for your traps again."

Meg didn't say anything, just stared down at a random smudge on the table, trying to drown out her shame.

"You do what I say, and if you fail me again, then I will have to dispose of you."

He wordlessly left. Meg had two lone tears streaming down her face, they stung but she could take the pain. She glanced up at the swinging door. Her mask, bitter, angry. Her lips, taut and emotionless. Sam Winchester and his family were going to pay for making a fool out of her.

First, she'd need to track them again, then she'd need a ride. No problem.

Tears gone, her face once more exuberated childish joy and mysterious sophistication.

"Hey stranger," she said, taking a vacant seat next to a scraggly trucker, who immediately looked as if he'd won the lottery, "goin someplace north?"

"Neqa'el demon. Well alright, how do we kill it?"

"Dad's diary doesn't say anything specific, although, hang on a sec."

It'd been a month, only a month, and Sam was quite shocked at how quickly they'd fallen back into routine. Another day, another demon, another hunt, another day added to their never-ending road trip. He'd thought about his dad a lot recently, but he'd thought more of Dean. Dean who he was just beginning to understand again, after all, four years does put a dent in a relationship, no matter how close they once were. Dean who he was beginning to see for what his brother really was: a fighter, a damn tough one, but no where near invincible. If he'd ever had evidence that Dean actually possessed human emotions under that gruff exterior, it was the day he'd told him about his plans on leaving, the day they met Dad, the day they almost died.

"Ok, says here, that the Neqa'el," a pause, "oh, well, first off they're a tribe of demons."

Dean rolls his eyes, just what they needed.

"The Neqa'el are cat demons, they have been worshipped as gods for centuries and are generally known to be quite, ah, peaceful?

"Dude, did you miss the bodies and the autopsies? Those cats are anything but peaceful."

"Still reading. You can't really, kill them, it's more of a banishing spell."

Sam leaned back in the chair, "it doesn't make sense you know. Neqa'el don't kill for no reason, and they're not exactly evil or anything, they wouldn't just slaughter twenty innocent people."

"Well, we deal in the nonsensical and the crazy shit right? Shouldn't be too bad. Banishing spell, I'm thinkin easy?"

"Yeah, simple abjuration complex: holy water, incense, candles, chalk. Nothing too bad, which is why I'm thinking it's not just a couple of cats you know?"

"How bout this, you keep pokin away at that laptop, dig up some more stuff, and I'm gonna get a little shut eye ok? I'm drivin all day tomorrow, and Ragged Lake ain't so close by let's just say."

With all the modesty of a porn star Dean stripped and hopped in bed.

"Stop checkin me out Sammy and get some work done."

Sam's brows furrowed, he wasn't looking, he really really wasn't.

Hands slick with blood and entrails, she dug furiously into the body of the forty year old lawyer on vacation with his family, now all dead. Well, she'd find it sooner or later. She wasn't in that much of a hurry. Someone in this god forsaken place had what she wanted. Satisfied that it wasn't, at the very least, buried within this one, she tossed the corpse aside where it joined a field of others.

All ripped, maimed, decapitated, mutilated.

The empty road offered little solace, and Dean was in enough of a bitter mood. Could they not go one day without arguing? Sam sometimes honestly believed with all his heart that they must either really hate or really love each other, because with them, the bickering part was beyond simple sibling relations. No, it had its roots somewhere deep. Currently, Sam could admit that he was at fault, apparently he didn't know when to shut up. He even though Dean had been joking. Who just randomly says, 'so hey, still thinkin bout ditchin the hunt someday?' Well apparently Dean does, and he was just as much of an idiot for answering, with a blunt 'yes' nonetheless. That had brought along another train of blaming, screaming, shouting, punching god forbid! the damn Impala. They had serious issues.

Sam sneaked a look at Dean, who carelessly draped an arm out the driver side window and kept his eyes straight and focused on the road. There was no music. Sam let loose a small sigh.

"What Sam?" ouch, not Sammy, just Sam.

"What are you gonna say now? You gonna tell me I'm a fuckin' moron who doesn't give a crap about your life? You gonna say I'm a selfish bastard who wants you to stay with the hunt? Or are you gonna shut up?"

He shut it, but damn, it was going to be a long, stifling trip.