Disclaimer – I don't own them.

The Name Lives On

Call it a parting gift…

Dean had forgotten the tiny, intricately folded piece of paper Gabriel had shoved in his hand before entering the final showdown in the Battle of the Siblings. He'd mouthed the words "I owe you," winked at the eldest living Winchester and headed into the Elysian Fields. Now sprawled across the bed, legs kicked up in the air, and digging thru every pocket of the jeans piled high on the floor, Dean was flustered and ready to call off his search and add another tally mark to the loss column. Then he found it, worn and faded from the previous day's turn in the washer and dryer.

It was nothing important.

At least that's what he thought at the moment. Simply an address – Hastings Road – Harding Avenue – the words weren't clear thanks to Tide's stain fighting power. Still something compelled him to jump in the Impala and drive. First he found Harding Avenue, "What the hell?" The street was cluttered with Starbucks, Barnes and Noble, and even a PF Chang's. The Midwest was on the come up. He shook off the desire for a white chocolate mocha, cranked up the Jovi and continued his journey.

Hastings Road was smack dab in the middle of suburbia. Nestled in the heart of perfection and framed by colossal trees with equally stupefying leaves, Dean's eyes fell on two and three story brick houses with massive garages made to fit SUVs and environmentally friendly economy cars lined both sides of the street. He scrambled for the paper on the dash, sweeping away burger wrappers and greasy containers that still held the lingering scent of fries.

1521 Hasting Road…

Dean brought the car to a jarring halt as he read the mailbox to his left – 1518. He gave the gas a tap just as Richie Sambora began to pluck the strings of his guitar and Jon Bon Jovi crooned the opening lyrics of I'll Be There for You, he found 1521. An uneasy feeling crept into the pit of his stomach as he stared at the house while the song continued to play. When his foot touched the pavement, fear welled up inside of him. He hadn't felt anything like that since the hell hounds came calling the first time.

The unmistakable crunch of salt under his boots pulled him from his trance and realization washed over Dean when he noticed the iron bars on the windows and doors. This was the house of a hunter.

Dean balled his fist in preparation to knock until the gleaming light of the doorbell caught his attention. He looked at his watch it was twenty past ten; throwing caution to the wind he pressed the button. He pulled up the collar of his jacket, struggling to find warmth amidst the sudden chill threatening to overtake him. Light poured from the globe above his head and he heard the locks of the door click and the chains slide before the door opened.

"You need to leave."

Those were the home owner's only words when her eyes met Dean's. There were no hellos, goodbyes, or fuck yous for good measure before his view was blocked by the wood swiftly shutting him out of her life yet again.

"Cassie wait…"

He didn't expect her to listen to his plea. Hell he deserved a punch in the face and a kick to the gut, anything but the patience she extended when the door opened wider and her face softened.

"How'd you find me Winchester?"

Dean had to laugh, "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." He paused, "Can I come in …just for a minute?"

Cassie cut her eyes over her shoulder and up the stairs, "I don't think that's a good idea."

Of course it wasn't. How many years had it been, four - five, she wasn't alone. There was probably a body upstairs keeping her bed nice and warm; someone safe and reliable. She'd moved on. Why would she have taken the time to mourn what they'd lost just because he did every single day of his life? Dean masked his broken heart behind wise cracks and smarmy lines that never failed to attract a big breasted waitress or stripper.

"Damn you look good." It was true. He dropped his head in a failed attempt to hide his embarrassment. He shoved his hands in the back pockets of his jeans while he rocked back and forth on his heels. She'd always be his girl.

"Don't do that Dean. Please?" There was desperation dripping from her voice.

Dean ignored it and pressed further, "I've been to hell and back…literally. Death is riding my ass and I don't have time to hold back. I still…"

Two little feet jumped the stairs two at a time until the body they belonged to reached the door. A boy no older than four or five wrapped an arm around Cassie's leg and looked up into Dean's face, "Hi."

They were the brightest eyes he'd ever seen; a funky mixture of green and brown with a golden hue around the orbs. When the kid smiled, Dean's breath seeped from his body. He managed to hold on to an ounce of air and a strangled "Hi," left his lips. He looked to Cassie for an explanation.

Dean needed her to open the door. He had to see the child up close. It couldn't be. Math had always been his worse subject but he added and subtracted, recalled the conversation with his dad about the birds and the bees. It was the only answer.

Cassie bent and kissed the little boy's forehead, "Bed…now…John."

His heart sank as he watched the little John turn and head for the stairs.

"Nice meeting you." John sang before he leapt up the stairs three at a time.

When Cassie was sure her words could not be heard, she answered Dean's question. "Yes he's yours. No he'll never live your life. Never." And she closed the door, ending the discussion.

There he stood in darkness – past, present, and future reconciled.

Dean echoed Cassie's words as he struggled to start the Impala, no John would never share this life. Satan would be defeated and the Winchester name would live on.