Scott Nolan swept a lock of his greying hair from his forehead and opened the back of the Suburban, smiling as his daughter walked around to join him. "Well, Devvy, what do you think of my luxury cabin?"

Devon smiled, hiding her eye roll at her father's nickname for her and shaking her head, her chestnut ponytail bobbing. "Dad, I'm not sure luxury is quite the word." She grabbed a box of provisions from the back of the vehicle and waited for her father as he threw the strap of his rifle, then his duffle bag, over one shoulder and searched his pocket for the key to the front door.

"Okay, maybe we should go with rustic, then," he joked as he swung the door open. Devon walked in, glancing around the large room, and depositing the box on the heavy wooden table. It looked as though someone had just cobbled it together with rough-hewn lumber, but it had been well-used and the top surface, at least, was smooth. She turned to look the room over further, noting the stone fireplace, complete with a deer head mounted over the mantle; an ugly brown and orange plaid sofa, that looked incredibly comfortable; and a recliner, thanks, no doubt, to her dad. "There are two bedrooms, so take whichever one you want, Devvy," her dad said, coming in with another load from the Suburban. "I brought a grill up last time I was here, but the stove works too. And there's a little lake not too far from here, if you want to swim or fish a little." He moved to stand in front of his daughter, putting his hands on her shoulders. "So, what do you think?"

"It's nice, Dad, really. I like rustic." She smiled at him. "But why did it take you so long to bring me up here? I haven't seen you for, what-three years?" Her father dropped his eyes, guilt flitting across his face.

"I know. I'm sorry." He turned and began to unpack the groceries. "I've kind of been on the road for a while. Do you remember me talking about my friend, John Winchester?"

"The name sounds familiar. But you've never really talked about your friends to me very much, Dad." Scott stopped what he was doing, hanging his head a little, and Devon felt a twinge of guilt herself. "I'm sorry, Dad. I'm not trying to make you feel bad, I'm really not." She walked up behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder and reaching up to kiss his cheek. "So, what about John Winchester?"

"Well, for a while I was on the road quite a bit with John and his son, Dean. We worked a few odd jobs together, security stuff, you know, like I've always done." Scott stopped again, disliking the taste of the half-truths on his tongue, then let out a sigh. "But I kind of lost track of them, went on working on my own. Then a few months ago, John's other son, Sam, called to let me know that John died. Complications from a bad car accident. All three of them were almost killed when their car got broadsided by a semi."

"Dad, I'm sorry."

Scott turned to look at his daughter. "It just made me realize, we never know what could happen, you know? And it kind of woke me up, made me think about the fact that I had let all this time go by, and that I missed you. That I don't want to lose touch with you again."

Devon slipped her arms around her father and he held her close, resting his chin on the top of her head. "I love you, Dad. I'm sorry about John."

"I love you too, Devvy. And I'm sorry for going so long without seeing you. Sometimes I think you're just better off without me complicating your life. You have a good job, your life seems to be on track, and I've always just kind of drifted in and out-I just wasn't sure since you became an adult if you really wanted much to do with me."

"Don't be silly. If I didn't want anything to do with you, why would I be here in this luxurious resort spending time with you?" She smiled up at him, kissing his cheek again, and began helping put away their provisions. "So-grill tonight? Or should I make some pasta?"

"Dean, are you okay?"

An impatient sigh from the driver's seat told Sam his state of mind, even before he spoke. "Look, Sammy, you need to stop asking me if I'm okay. I'm as okay as I'm gonna get for now, okay?" Ever since he had opened up to his little brother about his fears that their dad had made a deal to save his life, Sam had been in one of his 'mothering' modes.

"Sorry. I'm just..."

"Worried about me, yeah, I get it. But let it go, Sam. I'm fine." Dean's voice closed the door on that subject, and Sam looked out the passenger window at the passing scenery, if it could be called that. Nebraska didn't have much exciting to offer in that regard, at least not driving along Highway 20.

"So why are we going to the Roadhouse?" Sam asked quietly, knowing his brother was already irritated.

"I just thought we'd check with Ash, see if he has anything for us. Aren't you curious?" Dean glanced over at Sam, then back at the mind-numbing sameness of the road.

"Yeah, I guess-I just figured he'd call if he had anything. I just thought maybe you wanted to see Jo again." Sam smiled a little as he spoke, waiting for Dean's reaction.

"Shut up, Sam. Ellen would have me stuffed and mounted if I touched her precious daughter." Not that he wouldn't love to-after all, she was pretty and female, and that was really all it took most days. But getting mixed up with Jo would cause no end of complications, and he definitely did not need more complications in his life.

"That's true," Sam agreed, and unscrewed the lid on his soda, draining the bottle and tossing it into the back seat, ignoring the sidelong glare his older sibling bestowed on him. If he was irritated at Sam, at least his mind wouldn't be dwelling on the guilt he felt over their father's death, and Sam was okay with that.

They stopped at a tiny town a couple of hours from their destination to fill the Impala, and Sam went inside to pay for the gas and pick up a few snacks and drinks for the rest of the trip. Dean was just pocketing his cell phone as he got back into the car.

"Change of plans, Sammy," he said, pulling away from the pump and pulling out onto the two-lane highway. "Instead of heading south at Valentine, we're going north."

"What's up?"

"Scott just called. He's up at his cabin north of Pierre, South Dakota, and he thinks there might be a werewolf problem."

"Scott Nolan?" Dean nodded in reply as he opened the soda his brother handed him, taking a couple of swallows and heading down the road to their new destination.

Devon shook her head as she watched her father staring out the window into the trees. "Dad-why don't you relax? What's the problem? You've been on edge ever since you went into town this morning."

Scott turned to look at his daughter. "Sorry, Devvy. It's just that some of the locals were talking about an animal attack last night. I'm just a little worried about having you out here. I don't think you should go out in the woods until they figure this thing out, okay?"

"Animal attack?"

"Yeah, something tore a farmer's throat out not far from here. They think it might be a wolf."

Devon looked up from her perch on the couch. Her dad looked really worried. "Okay, Dad, if it makes you feel better, I'll stay inside." He gave her a rather tight smile and nodded.

"Thanks, honey. I'd rather not have to worry about you out there. I promised the sheriff that I'd help patrol tonight, but you should be okay as long as you stay put."

"Why are you helping patrol? I don't want you out there with that thing, Dad!"

"Devvy, I do security work all the time, and I'm a deer hunter. They need someone who has experience with firearms, and I fit the bill. They only have so many deputies and rangers around here."

"What makes it okay that I have to worry about you, but you don't want to worry about me?"

"I'm your father, that's what," Scott answered, trying to sound as if he was joking, but there was an underlying note of steel in his voice that Devon recognized from her childhood.

"So much for my being an adult," she muttered under her breath, and looked up innocently when her father shot a questioning look her way.

"What?"

"Nothing, Dad. What do you want for supper?"

She fixed a simple meal for the two of them and reluctantly sent her father off to help the local authorities, resigned to spending the evening reading or watching a DVD by herself. She kept herself occupied for the majority of the night, but after dark she began to worry. She tried his cell phone, but reception was spotty in the area, so she didn't hold out much hope that he would pick up.

She went to the kitchen area to make herself a cup of tea, deciding that she would give him until 10:30 to check in or she would call the sheriff's office. There really wasn't much else she could do, but she had an uneasy feeling, and until she spoke to her father she wouldn't be able to shake it. The appointed time came and went, but she held off on making the phone call, knowing it would irritate her dad if she called the sheriff about him. But when 11 o'clock rolled around and she still hadn't heard from him, she cursed under her breath and grabbed her phone, dialing directory assistance to get the number.

"Sully County Sheriff's Department," a terse female voice answered.

"Yes, my name is Devon Nolan. I'm calling about my father, Scott-he was assisting your department tonight, helping patrol after the animal attack last night. I haven't heard from him since he left at around 6 p.m. tonight."

"Scott-what was the last name?"

"Nolan. Scott Nolan."

"Hold on." Devon waited impatiently, wandering around the cabin aimlessly while she was on hold. "Miss Nolan?" The woman's voice startled her, and she jumped, then shook her head at herself for her nervousness. "I'm sorry, but we have no record of a Scott Nolan doing any work for us. I spoke to the sheriff myself. Are you sure he was talking about Sully County?"

"You had the possible wolf attack last night, correct?"

"Yes, but that wasn't public knowledge. How did you hear about it?"

"My father told me this afternoon."

"Well, miss, I don't know where he got the information, but we aren't releasing any information on that case as of yet. And the sheriff's department doesn't normally recruit civilian assistance. Would you like to file a missing person report? We wouldn't be able to do anything until he's been gone for 24 hours, but we could get the paperwork started if you think there's a real problem."

"No, thank you. I'll check back with you if he doesn't show up." She ended the call, her brows drawn together in a frown. Why would he tell her he was assisting the sheriff? He was out there trying to hunt that wolf by himself, that was the only explanation. And if he made it back to the cabin in one piece, she was going to tear him a new one.

By 11:30, Devon was beside herself. She called her dad's phone every five minutes, hoping against hope that he would wander into an area that had cell reception. Frustrated and scared, she went to the fridge and grabbed a cold beer, removing the lid and throwing it at the far wall. She downed almost half the bottle at once, then plopped down at the table, setting the bottle down and reaching for her phone once again. But before she could dial, she heard a heavy step on the front porch and shoved the phone into her pocket. As she stood, apprehensive, to head for the front door, her father burst into the room, slamming the door behind him.

Startled, she jumped, knocking over her beer in her surprise. "Dad! Are you all right?" As she drew closer, her eyes widened in shock. His right arm hung useless at his side, mangled and bloody. He grabbed her arm with his good hand, gripping her so tightly it hurt. "Dad! You're hurting me!" She tried to pull away from him, but he was dragging her towards the storage closet.

"Devvy! Listen to me. Get in the closet. Don't make a sound. Do you hear me?"

"Dad!"
"Devon!" Her father roared loudly enough to make her shrink back from him, as far as she was able with the grasp he had on her arm. "Just do what I tell you! Your life depends on it!"

Frightened like she had never been before, she nodded, tears in her eyes. "Okay, Dad." She stepped into the closet, and she heard him lock the door. "Dad!"

"Devvy, you have to be quiet, do you understand me? Don't make a sound, I don't care what you hear, I mean it." She heard him moving around outside her small prison, but couldn't make out what he was doing. She brushed a tear from her face with the back of her shaking hand, backing up a step and standing against the rear wall of the tiny room. And then she heard a loud crash, and a savage growl that sent a shiver of pure terror up her spine.

A shot rang out, the sound magnified by the confines of the cabin, and then there was silence for a few seconds. She heard more footsteps, and a man's voice that she had never heard before. "Scott! Damn it! What the hell were you doing?"

"Dean, please..." her father's voice wavered-it almost sounded like he was crying.

"Dean," another unfamiliar voice spoke, and the first man answered gruffly.

"Sammy-we have no choice."

Devon heard her father speak once more. This time, she knew he was crying, and she cowered in the closet, tears streaming down her face as she listened. "Dean, please. I'm begging you, son. Please..."

She heard the gunshot ring out, echoing loudly in the cabin, and her father spoke no more. She slid slowly down the wall of the closet until she was sitting huddled on the floor, her hand clasped over her mouth, terrified of making a sound. But what she really wanted to do was break down the heavy door that kept her captive and kill the man who had just shot her father-Dean Winchester.