PROLOGUE -THEN
The Thing in the Closet didn't scare Amir Park. At four, he already knew that wasn't real. But the Mirrorman, he had seen with his own huge, dark eyes.

The little boy climbed onto the stepping stool. In the same instant as he let himself peek up at his own slick, black hair and smooth, olive face, a man appeared and scowled back from behind the icy glass. Heart racing in his little chest, Amir's head whipped around to be sure he was actually still alone in the bathroom.

A saggy flap of skin hung over the sunken hole where the Mirrorman's left eye should have been. The other jaundiced eyeball bulged menacingly from a dark socket. An angry, red gash marred the left side of his face. He rasped the same words as always. "Repeat: I have to end it before it begins."

Petrified, the boy whispered the words until a violent knock rattled the door and he stumbled from his stool. "Amir!"

His little legs dangled and kicked against the cabinet as he held himself up with his elbows dug into the counter. The Mirrorman held a crooked finger to his lips, urging him to keep their secret.

He scrambled out of the bathroom, into his mother's arms, leaving the cold water running.

PART 1 - NOW

Driving away from a case didn't usually ache. In fact, it was usually cause for a little internal celebration, maybe a beer: another life saved, another evil bastard down. But, this hadn't been a usual case and Dean Winchester was in pain.

Through his truckstop shades, the landscape passed by in a dark blur of corn and farmhouses, fields of sheep and antique shops. His fingers drummed the passenger's side door handle without any particular rhythm. He wasn't even aware of the crap music twanging from the radio station his brother had chosen while he was asleep.

Sam kept his hands at ten and two, occasionally glancing over at Dean's face. There was nothing to see. He was perfectly stoic, predictably Dean. No indication that just an hour ago, they had driven away from the only woman Sam could ever remember his brother actually, almost, sort of acknowledging he had feelings for. The whole thing still addled Sam's mind. "Hey. You okay over there?"

"Awesome," Dean grumbled, pissed at himself for how shitty he felt and pissed at Sam for noticing.

"Yeah, you look awesome. Like an awesome train wreck."

Dean stopped fidgeting and sighed more loudly than he had intended. He decided that he would tuck and roll out of the fucking car if his brother brought up this thing with Cassie again.

Sam looked over. "So, you would honestly rather sit there stewing in your own juices than admit you didn't want to leave her?"

"Do me a favor, Dr. Phil, and mind your own goddamn business." Dean went back to staring out of his window.

Sam was more than familiar with his brother's belligerent routine. What he was not used to were the authentic emotions that practically roiled beneath Dean's irritation. He'd never seen his brother torn up like this. It was endearing and entertaining and, frankly, weird.

"You know, we have nowhere to be right now. Caleb took care of PA. Dad doesn't want us anywhere near whatever the hell he's doing. We could set up shop for a little while - at least until we get some new names or coordinates or whatever." As he spoke, Sam peeked out of the corner of his eye, expecting some sign of interest in what he was suggesting.

Instead, his older brother scratched his nose under his sunglasses and grit out between clenched teeth, "Why? Why do you give a shit?"

"Seriously? Because, you're my brother, Dean. And I want you to be happy. Also, because I need you sharp, so you can watch out for my ass."

Dean chuckled a little. He'd recently said something similar about Sam's atrocious sleep habits. At least the kid was actually listening to him.

Relieved, Sam smiled. Humor usually got through to his brother where affection failed. Still joking, he added, "And that's not going to happen if you're pining over some girl."

The grin melted from Dean's face. "She's not just 'some girl.'"

"Yeah." Sam swallowed thickly, his own pain closing around his throat like a fist. "I know."

BACK THEN

Dean might as well have been the king of the campus. The three inch layer of snow on the ground didn't bother him one bit. Neither did the frigid wind whipping his face. He felt like everyone of those towering brick buildings belonged to him, personally. His keys jangled as he twirled them around his finger in time to the tune he was whistling: the Andy Griffith theme song.

As usual, Cassie was taking her sweet time, probably wrestling with all of that hair. Dean had gone down ahead of her to warm up the car. He didn't even mind her taking so long to get ready; the results were always worth it.

The sound of his boots crunching over the snow stopped abruptly as an instinctive chill - one that had nothing to do with the weather - shot through his body. Dean froze. His dad was sitting on the hood of the Impala smoking a cigarette. "So, this is the 'den' you're staking out? Doesn't look too dangerous to me."

Dean lowered his head like a cowed teenager, silently cursing himself for it.

John flicked the unfinished butt to the ground. "So, now you're lying to me, boy? For some girl."

"No, sir." Dean willed himself to look up from the orange embers and the fading wisp of smoke on the asphalt to meet his father's steely eyes.

It was as close to a direct challenge as the young man could muster. He hadn't lied, exactly. He had staked out the vampire den for a while and then, he had gone to be with Cassie. And she was a lot more than just "some girl," although he wasn't ready to admit it to himself, let alone to his father.

Dean thought about asking the elder Winchester about how it felt getting to know his mom. He quickly decided against it. He could tell by the the old man's glare that they were not father and son at the moment, but Captain and soldier.

He sensed rather than heard as Cassie bounced up beside him. She slipped her arm around his waist, tucked her thumb in his belt loop and smiled politely at John. Dean cleared his throat as a fragrant swirl of vanilla, honey and coconut accosted him. "Cassie Robinson, this is my dad, John Winchester."

The silver bangle he had given her hung prettily from her thin wrist as she held out a gloved hand. "Pleasure to meet you, sir."

Grudgingly, his dad removed his cap. He scraped his fingers through his black hair before tucking the hat under his arm. He shook her hand and looked her over, but didn't utter a word. With one hand on the small of Cassie's back, Dean handed her the keys and kissed her cheek. "Can you warm her up for me? I'll be right there."

Following his son back to his truck, John cast another glimpse over his shoulder, "You've checked her out? Thoroughly?"

"Of course." It had not been easy to do it inconspicuously, but Dean had subjected Cassie to the full battery of tests. She was impervious to silver, holy water, iron, salt … the works.

"And you're sure she's not a succubus?"

"She's not a fucking succubus, Dad. Sorry, Sir. She's good with silver, so..." He stepped to the side a little, obstructing his father's mistrustful glare at Cassie in the Impala.

"This is not like you, Dean. You're sure?" He peered over the boy's shoulder again. "A lot of ugly things can make themselves look good. You ought to know that."

"I'm sure."

John pulled out his pack of Marlboros and slapped it against his palm a few times. "So…"

"If it's cool, I'll … This'll be my headquarters. While we're here. You'll let me know if, when…" Dean held his breath, willing his father to agree to what he was asking. He didn't want to point out that he was an adult. Something about that argument would make him feel like less of one.

John shook his head. The cigarette bobbed between his pursed lips as he spoke."This is a bad idea."

"It's a temporary thing. Like a fix, you know."

"Yeah, I know. You're playing house and it's a bad idea. Scoot." John Winchester struck his match and sighed as Dean damn near skipped back to the Impala.

"To hell with it." Sam spun the steering wheel hard with his left hand, spinning the car on a dime.

The tires screeched against the road, kicking up a cloud of dust and gravel. Rubber burned off onto the blacktop and caused an acidic haze to taint the air.

"Turn the car around, Sam." Dean's voice remained level, although he could feel his pulse picking up.

"No."

"I swear to god, man." Without warning, Dean grabbed the wheel and yanked back to the right.

Sam gripped tight and tried to steady the car. "Knock it off!"

He had just intended to stop the Impala from swerving dangerously between the two lanes on the, thankfully, nearly secluded highway. It was a complete accident that his elbow connected with Dean's face. "Shit! I'm sorry."

The cracked shades crumbled to his lap in two pieces. He pinched the bridge of his possibly broken, profusely bleeding nose.

"You all right?" Righting the car, Sam grimaced at the crimson mess coating his brother's chin and slipping through his fingers.

Dean tilted his head back and caught the flow with his hands in a futile attempt to keep his upholstery clean. It was a lost cause. He lashed out and slammed his little brother's skull against the driver's window with a loud thud. It left a bloody hand print on Sam's ear and made Dean feel a little better until the car jerked and veered off course again. A sixteen wheeler in the oncoming lane honked frantically. It weaved just in time to avoid pulverizing them.

Dean wiped at his face with the back of his wrist and snarled behind bloody teeth. "I'm only going to say this one more time: Turn. The fucking. Car. Around."

"Or what?"

Dean opened his door. A gust of cold wind filled the car as he hung his right foot out over the road to time his jump.

"Seriously?" Sam considering daring his brother to do it. He knew Dean a little too well for that. Instead, he checked the rear view mirror for traffic and pulled over.

"All right, all right. God."

Dean peeled off his bloody flannel and bunched it up against his face.

Sam reached out to pull it away. "Let me see."

Dean swatted his hand and swung his feet out onto the grass. He hung his head and let the blood flow freely, now that it wouldn't muck up his seats.

"I'm sorry about that. Look, I'm just saying, if I could be with Jessica right now, or have the chance of going home to her when all this is over…" Sam huffed and hung his head, ready to give up. If Dean didn't know what he was missing, screw it.

"She doesn't fucking want me." Dean's voice quivered. " She's made that clear, Sam. Not once. Twice." He had never been so grateful to be in physical pain. It at least dampened the other kind.

He breathed loudly through his mouth, refusing to let this moment of weakness descend any further. Sam diverted his eyes through the windshield, unsure how to respond to the remote possibility that his big brother was going to start crying. "I don't think that's true. I think you're both too stubborn to see what's in front of you. Go back now and tell her you won't take no for an answer. And if she still sends you away, then you know. And you can let it go once and for all … People need that kind of closure, Dean. Even freaks like you."

NOW

"You're a meddlesome bitch, you know that?" Dean slammed the car door behind him.

The Impala idled quietly outside of the quaint, white country house. Exhaust puffed out grey against the light snow that fell as evening approached.

"You're welcome, jerk." Sam mumbled to himself as his brother sauntered up to the house.

Unlike Dean, he had no experience with picking up complete strangers. He didn't even want to know about it. What he did know was how to be in a relationship: if you were serious about the girl you had to show her, even if it meant fighting for it.

Dean stopped at the door, but didn't ring or knock. He thought of all the bone crunching, blood sucking, otherworldly motherfuckers who had tried to tear him limb from limb in his lifetime. They were all less terrifying than facing this woman again. At least he knew exactly what to expect from monsters. But Sam was right. A third strike would tell him, once and for all, that he was out. Then, he could just banish her from his mind after that.

Right. Because that had worked so well the last time.

"Just fucking do it," Dean growled at himself, but his hands remained stubbornly glued to his sides.

He shook his head, turned on his heels, marched down the steps and back toward the car. The locks clicked shut from the inside as Sam jammed the heel of his hand over the button. Dean swore under his breath. "I am going to choke the life out of that little shit."

He sighed and dragged his ass back to the porch. Scraping a palm down his face and scrubbing at his stubble, he inhaled deeply through his blood-encrusted nose. He straightened his fresh shirt.

The door was thick, probably oak, with an opaque glass oval in the center. He nearly stumbled backwards when it opened. Cassie gawked up at him. She was tugging a brown leather rolling suitcase in one hand and had a briefcase slung over the other shoulder. "Did you forget something?"

Dean had to remind himself that she couldn't help sounding so matter of fact all the time. It was the reporter thing. 'Dispassionate' was the word she liked to use. He swallowed, but it did nothing to soothe the fucking desert in this throat. "Um. No. That's the problem, Cassie. I can't."

She grimaced, "You know that's really bad, right?"

A smile unfurled across his face. "You love it."

She laughed a little and nodded. "I do."

Dean let out a huge breath he hadn't even realized he was holding and smothered her mouth with his own. Her hand dropped the handle of her bag. It hung in the air for a moment before fisting in his shirt. Finally, he leaned back and licked the taste of her from his own lips. Grinning, he tugged the end of one of her curls and asked, "Now what?"