I've had this one stewing since episode 7-2. Figured I'd go ahead and put it up. I didn't get a single review on my last chapter so I'm thinking it's time to hang up my writing and spend the time doing something else if no one is enjoying it. I will attempt to finish up my multi-chapter things and that will be it unless I get some feedback that I should continue.

For those that are seeing this all in BOLD, I have no idea why it is doing that since it looks normal in Document Manager. I have tried several things to fix it but nothing is working.

Dean watched through the window as the homeless man trudged along the street, hunched over as if he hadn't straightened his back in years. It was his normal, eerily consistent, route through town and every time Dean came to this particular bar the guy would always appear right on schedule pushing a grocery cart full of his treasures. When he asked the regular patrons of the bar about him their reply was inevitably Nice guy, doesn't say much…just appeared in town a few years ago and started walking the town. Dean normally didn't pay much attention to homeless guys unless they had information he needed on a hunt, but there was something about the relentless trudge, trudge, trudge…always at the same speed…that mesmerized him.

No one had actually seen the guy's face. He was always wearing a hoodie, a ragged paisley scarf around the lower part of his face, and a beat up pair of Oakley M Frame mirror lens sunglasses that hid his eyes even when it was dark. All anyone seemed to know about him was that he never kept the items he scrounged from various dumpsters around town. He was particular about what he gathered, preferring to take items that were repairable or of some value. Repaired bicycles and toys always ended up at the nearby orphanage. Appliances found their way to families that were in need. Any money found or given to him was used to buy parts for the things he was fixing.

Dean had no idea why this guy had attracted his attention, but after three nights of watching him from the booth near the window he had decided to extend his stay. He wanted to find out more. The guy apparently didn't drink or do drugs like most bums…his only vice appeared to be smoking, as a trail of smoke seemed to follow him wherever he went. Although his clothing had obviously seen better days, they always seemed to be clean. Dean had been warned by everyone he talked to not to approach the man, since that usually resulted in his disappearance for a few days to parts unknown. Everyone had learned to leave any donations or unwanted items near the abandoned garage on the outskirts of town.

The next night when Dean knew the guy would be on his appointed rounds, he drove the Impala out the garage to look around. The door was padlocked with a shiny new lock…evidence that whoever was here wanted to protect something inside the dilapidated building. The windows were black with years of accumulated grime, so there was no way to see inside. Dean worked quickly to pick the lock and slipped inside, avoiding a trip wire that was attached to some old aluminum cans…a rudimentary alarm system. The entire area looked like it had been scrubbed within an inch of its life. He was surprised to find a neat workbench with tools carefully placed on the peg board above. A small, neat nest of old blankets in the corner told him that this was where the guy slept…no mattress though…just blankets on a concrete floor.

There was no sign of any personal items aside from a box containing packs of various brands of cigarettes…presumably given to him by people around town. The lack of personal items was disappointing. Dean had hoped to find a picture of a long lost family member or something that would provide a clue who this guy was. For some reason Dean wanted to help if he could…maybe find his family or at least help the guy out in some way.

Dean put the feeling down to guilt. The relentless nag in his gut whenever he thought of the way he had pushed a family member away years ago. No, Castiel wasn't really family, but in the years they fought side by side Dean had come to think of him that way. The disintegration of that relationship had weighed heavily since Castiel had disappeared. It took every bit of old magic they could find, but with Bobby and Sam's help they had managed to divest him of the souls and once that was done he simply winked out of existence before their eyes…no teary or angry goodbyes…no rustling of wings…no chick flick death scene…just poof. No amount of praying or summoning had produced any of the Angels afterward, so they were all left wondering what exactly had happened. Castiel was simply gone.

Carefully exiting and replacing the lock, Dean decided to drive the Impala into the woods where it wouldn't be seen and come back to watch from a nearby copse of trees when the man returned. After hiding the car he retrieved his binoculars from the trunk and walked quickly back. He didn't have long to wait. As he heard the grocery cart rattling down the road he made sure he was well hidden and trained the binoculars at corner of the building nearby. Just as the man appeared in the field of view he stopped and scanned the area as if he knew someone was watching. Nervously he took one last drag on the cigarette he was smoking and crushed it beneath one of the mismatched, battered boots he was wearing, looking around furtively. Dean quickly lowered the binoculars, hoping that the glass hadn't flashed in the moonlight and given away his position.

It felt like forever until the guy moved again, and Dean released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. As the neglected pavement got rougher towards the old garage the man had to struggle to keep it rolling and Dean resisted the urge to jump out and help. Once he reached the door he looked around again and slipped inside, pulling the cart inside with him. A faint light soon filtered out through the dirty windows, probably from the gas lantern Dean had seen on the workbench.

Dean stood behind the trees mulling his options. He hadn't discovered a single thing for all his efforts, but he was determined to find out something. Just as he decided to make a run for the tree line and back to the car he heard the faint sounds of a hammer pounding on something from within the building. It was nearly midnight and Dean would have thought that the guy would have been ready to rest, since his route around town was nearly 5 miles round trip. The fact that he was working on something even at this late hour when he was probably tired and maybe hungry told Dean that his guy was thinking only of others, not himself.

Dean decided that the only way to draw the guy out was through donations…donations made in an unusual location that would send the guy a message. He ran back to the car and rummaged through the trunk. Near the back he found the old boots and clothing he kept there for situations when his good stuff might get messed up. They were old, but in much better shape than what the guy was wearing. This would be the perfect first donation…something obviously for him not the people he was helping. He just hoped the boots would be the right size or at least close to it.

The next night Dean drove into town early, parking the Impala two blocks over and walking to the store across the street from the bar. There was a bench beside the door and he carefully placed the clothing he had taken to the laundry earlier in the day on it along with the boots. In the jeans pocket he had put a $100 dollar bill and a pack of cigarettes. He hesitated, wondering why he was doing it. He knew though…he was trying to make amends for his treatment of Castiel even if he couldn't do it directly.

Taking one look back at the gift, he hurried across to the bar and took his place in the booth by the window. Right on time the grocery cart appeared up the street and Dean watched as the man hesitated before approaching the bench. A shaky hand reached out to touch the bundle lightly and he turned to look directly at Dean. Dean froze as he realized he had been made, but after a second the man turned and gathered the clothing, placing it carefully on top of the items in his cart. With a brief look back he continued on his way.

The next night Dean went to the diner up the street and bought the special and some apple pie. Even though Sam griped about the lack of vegetables in his diet, Dean figured the guy could use some so he got the three vegetable plate with fried chicken. A stop at the small grocery store next door yielded a two liter bottle of Coke and some energy bars. He placed the items on the bench and took his place in the bar. There was no hesitation this time as the man approached the bench. Dean was momentarily perplexed when the guy got down on his knees in front of the bench, but after shifting his position slightly so he could see around the cart he could see the guy was apparently praying.

After rising the man sat down on the bench and slowly opened the larger of the two Styrofoam boxes and pulled the scarf down to reveal a heavy beard. He looked up at Dean briefly before taking a few bites and chewing slowly. Once he had taken a bite of each item he reached for the smaller box containing the pie and opened it, but didn't eat any. He looked up at Dean once more and then closed the pie box. Dean scanned the face for any identifying features, but with the heavy beard he still couldn't see anything that would help him in his quest. Even the guy's hands were covered with gloves. Once again he carefully placed the items on top of the teetering pile of items in the cart and made his way on down the street.

After leaving the bar that night Dean reluctantly went to the retail hell known as Wal-Mart and came out with a cart load of toys for the orphanage kids. Rather than leaving them on the bench across from the bar, he decided these should be left at the garage since there wouldn't be room for them in the cart if the previous nights were any indication. He waited the next day until he knew the man would be gone and carefully arranged the items near the door. On the bench across from the bar he left a note, using the prepaid cell phone he had purchased to weigh it down.

Nothing here tonight, but you will find my donation later. My number is programmed into the phone…if you ever need anything. I'll be leaving for home tonight, but I hope I've helped you in some way.

Dean Winchester

Taking his place by the window one last time Dean watched, but was disappointed when the man failed to appear. After nursing his beer for an hour he gave up and went back to the hotel to gather his things. He had done all he could without scaring the guy away and his number was in the phone. He left town on the road that went by the garage even though it would take him out of his way, hoping he would see some sign of the man. He didn't, but he kept looking in the rearview mirror as long as the garage was still in sight.

A week went by after he returned home and Sam had found them a few hunts. That kept his mind off of the homeless man for the most part, but he found his mind wandering back to the mystery man at night once he was in bed and trying to sleep. Maybe he should have done more. Worry began to nag at him as he thought about the man's failure to appear that last night. Was he just trying to avoid the gifts or had something happened to him? After three consecutive sleepless nights he decided to go back and approach the man even if it did cause him to run.

Dean rolled into town just after dark and checked in at the same motel before cruising by the garage. There were no signs of life so he went on to the bar, getting a few menacing looks from the men sitting at the bar as he entered. The waitress came over and placed a beer on the table, looking at him strangely before walking away. Dean looked out the window with trepidation, wondering if the man would appear. A half hour after the appointed time Dean breathed a sigh of relief as the cart came into view, but he immediately cringed when he saw that the man was struggling to push the cart, limping badly.

The waitress shot him a glare from across the room, and he motioned her over. She came and two rather large men dismounted their bar stools to follow her. The hair on the back of Dean's neck stood up as they gathered around the table.

"Is there a problem?" Dean said, wondering why they were obviously threatening him.

"Yeah, there is…you!" said the larger of the two men flexing his well muscled arm.

"I'm just sitting here drinking a beer. I don't have a problem with you." Dean said, feeling more uncomfortable by the second.

"Well, we have a problem with you. You roll in here last week and start asking questions about him, then try to bribe him with gifts and he ends up in an alley beaten up on the same night you leave town? That can't be a coincidence." The smaller man said, motioning out the window with his thumb.

"Hey, I was trying to help the guy, get him back with his family or something. I certainly didn't beat him up." Dean said, spreading his wide to show he wasn't a threat.

"There's nobody in this town who would touch him. Even the lowlifes give him a wide berth so it had to be somebody from out of town." The waitress said, obviously not as convinced.

"So that's why he didn't show up that last night I was here. I just thought I had scared him away so I decided to leave and left him a cell phone so he could call me if he wanted to."

"Well as you can see he's been badly hurt, but he wouldn't let anyone help when we found him, just got up and limped away." the waitress said, motioning the men to go back to the bar.

"OK that's it. I'm gonna help him whether he likes it or not if I have to pick him up and carry him." Dean said as he slid out of the booth and stood up.

"He won't like it."

"I don't give a damn whether he likes it or not."

Dean threw some bills on the table and stormed out the door, looking down the street to see the man disappearing around the corner. He started for the Impala and then thought better of it, the sound of the bellowing engine would certainly tell the guy he was coming. He ran toward the corner and looked to the right where he had last seen him and saw him sitting on a bench about halfway down the block rubbing his injured leg. Dean slowed to a walk and approached slowly, holding his hands up to signal he wasn't a threat.

The man glanced up briefly at Dean as if he already knew that someone was approaching. His shoulders sagged slightly as Dean stopped about 10 feet from the bench.

"Will you let me help you? You need a hospital…or at least a place to rest up that isn't a concrete floor."

The man buried his face in his hands, shaking his head vigorously at the same time.

"I won't hurt you. I just…I don't know…something keeps telling me I'm supposed to help."

Taking his hands away from his face the man reached into his shirt pocket with a sigh and withdrew a pack of cigarettes. He took one out and pulled the scarf down, then hung it in the corner of his mouth before offering one to Dean. Dean hesitated since he hadn't smoked since the boys' room in high school, but he figured he could at least go through the motions since it appeared the guy was at least willing to suffer his presence.

Dean pulled out his Zippo, offering to light the one dangling precariously from the man's lips. He then lit his own and coughed a little as the first inhale hit the back of his throat. A soft chuckle came from the mysterious man and he motioned for Dean to sit down. Dean sat down on the opposite end of the bench, noticing that at least one of his gifts had been put to use. The boots appeared to be the right size, but the one on his left foot was unlaced, obviously to make room for some swelling.

"So, how can I help?"

"You shouldn't." the man said, after a moment of hesitation.

That voice…it was different…softer…but still it could only belong to one person.