The whole world had gone to shit more times than Dean Winchester could count, and most of those were a direct consequence of his – or Sammy's – actions. It was any wonder those Brits had it in for them. Still, Dean couldn't shake the feeling the Powers that Be weren't done with him yet.

Even if he was done with them. With Him, the Big Guy.

Hell, he didn't know anything anymore. Was Chuck even alive after Amara nuked him?

Dean shook his head to dispel all thoughts of higher powers and grabbed the busted remote off the mattress. This little bunker might be shoddy but it sure had some great amenities. He watched as the commercial switched, a close shot of vaguely Asian eyes. Pinky pouty lips.

Full, round breasts spilling over the top of a black, lacy bra.

He preferred red himself, but hey, it'll do. The number rolled across the screen as the busty Asian beauty pitched her game. He'd called one of those hotlines once. There was something just not right to phone sex. Not if the other person wasn't within driving distance, anyway.

No, he was a hands-on kind of guy.

He flipped the channel and immediately regretted it. Flashing across the screen, a story about some strange occurrence in Missouri.

"Oh, come on," he muttered, Why's it always Missouri?

Crop failures, freak electrical storms…Demons.

The last thing wanted to deal with. He absently rubbed his forearm, the sting of the Mark still branded into his memory. It was gone now, but he couldn't wipe what he'd done away.

Let some other poor sucker handle those demons for a change.

All he wanted to do was get a little R&R, maybe drink a few beers…Yeah, that sounded all right.

"One local woman witnessed firsthand the destruction Tuesday's storms wrought," the newscaster said, nodding as the screen shifted.

He stared up at the ceiling, wanting nothing more than to fall asleep. The news story played in the background as his eyes drifted closed, open, and back again. There was no reason to fight sleep. Except for the Men of Letters, no one was after them. There were no cases to be worked right now.

Dean nestled into the old mattress and let himself surrender to sleep.

"Dean!"

Sam's gruff shout jolted Dean from a very nice, dreamless sleep. "What? What? I'm up," he muttered, rolling off the mattress into a standing position. His hands wiped at his face, smacking away the last bit of grogginess that latched itself to him.

"We got a lead on a case down in Missouri."

"Awh, man, let someone else deal with that. That's just some garden variety demons."

Sam stood in the door way – more like blocked it – and cleared his throat. His eyes shifted back to the laptop he held in one hand and back to Dean, uncomfortable. "Uh, well," he laughed nervously, "I think you might want to check this one out."

Dean motioned for the laptop. "What could be so interesting abou– " The words cut themselves short as he watched the same broadcast that he'd fallen asleep on earlier.

"I have with me Cassandra Robinson, a resident of Cape Girardeau, who says she saw the storm decimate one of the town's oldest historic buildings, killing at least 30 people."

The reporter shoved the mic in the woman's face. Her long curly hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but he'd recognize those curls and that face anywhere.

"Cassie?" he asked no one, but cast a wary look at his brother. Sam was silent, gauging Dean's reaction. The woman was obviously older, with vague lines around her full lips. Her hair was darker, and she seemed smaller somehow, but there was no mistaking the voice.

"Yeah," Sam said, slowly stepping into his brother's room. "I'm positive it's a possession or something, but when I saw the town…I thought you might want to ride out there and make sure everything goes well…?

Dean shook his head, not sure what to say. In ten years, he hadn't really given the fiery journalist much thought. Not since before Lisa anyway. A pang went through his chest, and he quickly pushed Lisa and Ben back to where he kept them – locked down in the back of his mind.

Like Cassie, the best thing he'd ever done was leave them. Hell, Cassie saw it coming before he did.

Still, for a brief moment, as he watched her smack flyway hairs from her face, saw the sadness in her big, brown eyes… he felt something stir in him. Nostalgia, maybe? Regret?

He cleared his throat and handed the laptop back to Sam. "Uh, yeah, I mean. It wouldn't hurt to check it out? Who knows, we might find a lead on Lucifer."

Lucifer was honestly the last thing on his mind right now, but Sam didn't need to know that. If Dean was being completely honest with himself, he didn't too much care where Lucifer was. He'd had enough of him, God, Amara, Crowley; if there was a re-do switch, he'd have done more than a few things differently.

"We tagging Cas in on this one?"

Dean shook his head. "This is just a courtesy call, Sammy. No need to call in the big guns."

Sam snorted. "Right."

The brothers grabbed their bags, prepacked for on-the-fly trips. No matter how long they'd stayed here, how they might call it home, there was always the chance they had to leave.

Dean shouldered his duffel bag and slid his phone out of his pocket. Scanning through his contacts list, he found her name lost somewhere between those of hunters he hadn't seen in years. His thumb hovered over the phone icon, but he quickly thought better.

Hey, Cassie. Been awhile. Saw the news. Headed your way.

He sent the text and followed Sam out the door, toward the Impala. As he slid into the front seat, he checked his phone for a response.

Nothing.

Okay, he thought, going in blind.