Prologue
Late January 1991 – An elementary school in South Dakota
There she was. Again. The same swing, same tattered black corduroy coat, sad eyes that rarely lifted to see anything but the ground, and she was always alone. For the past four weeks, ever since John Winchester dropped his two sons off at Bobby Singer's house in South Dakota, the youngest, Sam, had seen the lonely girl around school and at recess, always by herself, but was afraid to form a friendship with her for fear that his dad would come back and move him and his older brother Dean somewhere else. He was used to saying goodbye what with his dad's job, or rather, obsession, but he wasn't sure he could be friends with Swing Set Girl, as he had dubbed her after his first week at school, knowing he would have to leave her eventually.
She didn't even make an effort to get to know the kids in her class, and her face, her posture, the distance she kept from the people around her, spoke of a maturity beyond her years that could only come from being exposed to evil at a young age. Sam would know. His dad had been dragging him and Dean across the country hunting spirits and demons ever since their mom died.
The cold January wind rippled across the schoolyard, tousling Sam's unruly hair across his forehead and into his eyes. He saw the tiny girl pull her jacket closer around her body as she shivered and kicked at the frozen ground. Bobby said there had been snow over Christmas, but milder temperatures had melted the snow, leaving the ground a sort of wet solid, perfect for the game of co-ed kickball happening in the baseball field behind the picnic table Sam was sitting at. He had a copy of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn that he wanted to finish, but he couldn't concentrate with the boys yelling and the girls screeching when someone threw them out. Besides, he was too distracted by Swing Set Girl, wondering what made her so withdrawn and sad.
She looked up suddenly and Sam pretended to be engrossed in his book, but it was too late. He had been caught staring. This is so pointless, Sam clapped the book closed with a sigh and crossed the schoolyard.
"Hi," he said, approaching Swing Set Girl cautiously so as not to scare her off. "Can I sit with you?"
"Do what you want," she kicked at the ground again, refusing to meet his gaze as she tried to shrink further into her coat. Sam noticed it was a couple sizes too big for her small, thin frame. Probably a hand-me-down. He knew how that went.
He set his book on the ground then sat on the swing next to the girl. "So, I'm Sam. What's your name?" he asked.
"McKenna."
The end of recess bell rang before Sam could ask any more questions, and the girl leapt from her swing as if it would burn her if she stayed much longer. She was across the school yard and inside before Sam could grab his book and follow her in, but he had broken the ice. As far as he knew, he would be back tomorrow.
Mid-November 1997 – A high school in South Dakota
"Sam!" thirteen-year old McKenna ran down the crowded hall, dodging moving bodies and couples making out, to catch up with her tall best friend. She always figured he would be tall because his hands and limbs had been larger than his body when he was a kid, and all through middle school he had been clumsy and awkward in his own body. He obviously had a growth spurt over the summer because now he was at least three inches taller than his older brother and was easy to spot in a crowd as he usually towered over most people.
When she saw whose locker Sam was headed for she slowed only slightly so as not to appear too eager while telling herself not to look at his gray green eyes. The first time McKenna met Sam's brother Dean was also the first time her dad hadn't come home from a hunt in time to celebrate Thanksgiving with her, so Sam invited her to spend the weekend at Bobby's. She had spent many nights at Bobby's with Sam before, but Dean had always been hunting with his dad. That particular weekend, however, John was partnering up with her dad, which was rare, to follow a lead that might have some connection with the thing that killed Sam and Dean's mom. So it was just the four of them – Bobby, Sam, Dean and herself – celebrating Thanksgiving with a turkey, pumpkin pie at Dean's request, chips and salsa, and football. When Sam introduced his fourteen-year old brother to her, McKenna thought her nine-year old heart was going to literally jump out of her chest. And when he apologized for tackling her during their game of two-on-two football later that day, she knew she was in love with him.
So when Dean took his first girlfriend to the Christmas dance that year and McKenna hung out to play board games with Sam, she vowed to never let Dean know how she felt about him. She couldn't handle the heartache every time he introduced her as his little brother's best friend to the many girls he brought around over the years.
"Hey, shawty," Dean teased her, leaning back against his locker to talk to Sam.
"Shut if, Puff Daddy," she hated when anyone teased her about her short stature, but somehow it stung a little bit more when Dean did it then ruffled her hair. Like she was his little sister.
"Ya miss me?" he grinned, knowing full well the kind of effect he had on women.
"Yeah right," McKenna turned to give Sam her full attention, effectively blocking Dean from wreaking any more havoc on her five senses. She had missed him, though. He took last year off school to hunt with his dad, which is why he was probably the only senior about to turn nineteen, and she had lived for the days when Sam came to school with news of his brother. Dean came back at the end of the summer, but spent the past two and a half months at home with Bobby and a tutor, catching up on what he had missed or forgotten during his year off.
Today was his first day back, which was the only reason why she had been excited to come to school this morning, but her euphoria died as soon as he stepped out of his beloved black Chevy and was all but assaulted by some of the senior girls, mostly stacked blonde cheerleaders and members of the dance team.
"What's up, Mac?" Sam asked.
"I was just wondering if you could help me with my Algebra homework tonight? We have a test on Monday and I'm pretty much lost in that class," she explained. "And I'm supposed to go on a hunt with my dad this weekend, so tonight's really the only time I have to study."
"Uh, yeah, I think I'm free, but it's been a year since I took that class. I don't know how much help I'll be," he said.
"Whatever, Sam. You're like a genius. Thanks," she smiled and disappeared back down the hall in a flurry of long, choppy red hair and black skirt, hoping to make it back to the 8th grade wing before the bell for her next class rang and she was late. Again.
Early July 2000 – Singer Salvage Yard in South Dakota
Sam was so bored he was doing laundry just to be active. He had opted to stay at Bobby's while his dad and Dean followed a lead in Utah, and after a shouting match, which ended with Sam storming out of the house and spending the night venting, and, finally, sleeping at McKenna's, John agreed. Ever since school had let out two months ago, Sam, Dean and John had been traveling across the country hunting evil and following leads on Mary Winchester's killer.
McKenna had also been off hunting with her dad, but the plan was to meet back up in South Dakota and spend some time off over the July 4th weekend. Sam hadn't realized how much he missed his best friend until they spent the weekend talking, swapping stories, playing poker with Dean and Bobby, grilling burgers on her deck, and shooting off homemade fireworks. He was tired of hunting and just wanted to spend the few remaining weeks of summer having carefree fun with his best friend. Like a normal person.
He was folding his T-shirts, neatly stacking them in his dresser drawer, when the cell phone in his pocket began to ring. Thinking it was Dean or his dad, Sam answered on the second ring. It was McKenna.
"Hey!" he greeted her through the phone, sounding a little too eager even to his own ears.
"Wow, what's going on over there?" she asked.
"Nothing. That's the problem," Sam lounged back on the bed, his long legs stretched out in front of him with his back supported by the headboard and a pillow. "I'm doing laundry, for crying out loud!"
"Okay, you need to get out of the house right now," McKenna said. "Which is why I called. My dad left this morning on a hunt, and there's nothing good on TV. Looks like you're my second best option, Winchester."
"Awww, you're too sweet, Hudson," Sam played along with her unusual sense of humor. He learned early on that if McKenna insulted someone it meant she felt comfortable around them. "What's up?"
"There's a local band playing at that new coffee shop downtown. Wanna check it out?"
"Sure. Just let me finish folding these clothes, then I'll come get you."
A half hour later, Sam, driving an old Buick from Bobby's lot of fixer-uppers, and McKenna were pulling into a parking space in the street across from the new coffee shop. The band was already playing when they got inside. The coffee shop was actually a renovated, one-room storefront with an apartment upstairs, but the owner had added walls, a stage and a loft to give the appearance of a cozy coffee shop. Along the wall nearest the door ran a wooden bar where the customers could order and pick up their food and drinks. Sam noticed some even chose to sit there because the tables scattered throughout the middle of the open room were packed with people. The stage was set up at the front of the room, and to the left was a short, narrow hallway that, Sam guessed, housed the men's and women's bathrooms as well as the stairs that led to the second-floor apartment. As they stood in line to order, Sam noticed a long, wooden staircase to the left of the door that led to a makeshift loft above their heads. It faced the stage, but was quieter and more private. The décor of the room – paintings done by local artists, colorful woven throw rugs, the creaking hardwood floor, plush couches and chairs arranged to form tight, inviting nooks where couples could converse or students could do homework, decorative antique lamps in every corner – reminded Sam of some of the older, Victorian-style houses he and his dad and brother had often been called to in order to get rid of the ghost or spirit haunting the residents. Often, it was the older houses with sordid pasts in which a former owner or tenant who had died haunted the house either because they couldn't let go of someone or something they had left behind, or they had been murdered and wanted revenge.
Sam and McKenna paid for their drinks and decided to watch the band from the loft where they could enjoy the music while also being able to talk without yelling at each other.
"So, when will your brother and dad get back?" McKenna asked, hoping the question sounded more concerned than eager. But she noticed Sam frown as he looked away from her to the rock band below.
"Who knows," he shrugged. "But if my dad has anything to say about it, I'm sure he would never take time off. You know, Dean's a lot more like my dad than he'll ever admit." Sam turned his head to look at McKenna's pretty face, now marred by confusion at his sudden shift in mood. Her clover green eyes were squinted slightly, guarded, beneath the fire red waterfall of her creatively uneven, straight bangs. Sam knew she was hung up on Dean. What girl wouldn't be? He was the sexy, confident brother, and Sam was the sensitive guy every girl wanted as her friend because he was easy to talk to.
"What's that supposed to mean?" McKenna watched several unnamed emotions play across Sam's expressive face. He had something to say, but she knew he wouldn't now that he knew it might hurt her feelings. "Sam?"
"Nothing, Mac. Just drop it," he stared into his cream-filled coffee as though the liquid itself help comfort and answers to all his questions. "Let's talk about something else."
"No, Sam, you do this every time we talk about your family," McKenna reached across the table and took his chin in a firm grip. "Look at me. Tell me what's—" Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she leaned back in her seat to check the caller ID. It was Bobby. With her right thumb on the green 'send' button, McKenna met Sam's questioning gaze with her determined one. "I'm not done with you yet."
She answered the phone, "Hi, Bobby."
Sam couldn't hear what Bobby was saying, but he didn't need to when he saw the stubborn set of McKenna's jaw wilt along with the rest of her body. She clutched at her stomach, her chest rising and falling with every gasp as she tried to suck oxygen back into her lungs.
"McKenna," Sam was on his feet and pulling her tight against his strength before she closed the phone and collapsed.
"He's dead," McKenna buried her face into Sam's T-shirt so he couldn't see her cry, but the wet spots on his chest and her convulsing body gave her away.
"Who's dead?" Sam wished he could take her pain and make it his. She was only sixteen, much too young to ache so much it was contagious, causing him to feel as though he had been physically stabbed in the gut. But all he could do was put his large hand against the back of her head to keep her close enough to draw comfort and strength from his beating heart.
"My dad."
Halloween 2005 – Highway 152, approximately one hour from Palo Alto, CA
"So what, you're just not gonna talk to me?" twenty-six year old Dean Winchester quickly shifted his eyes from the busy road he was driving on to glance at the fire-haired female sitting in the passenger's seat. She remained silent, her arms crossed over her chest and her face set in stubborn determination. She reminded him of a pouting eight-year old who had just been denied a new toy, and not for the first time did he think that her dyed hair perfectly complimented her flaming personality. "Come on, McKenna, you can't ignore me all night." He sore he heard her huff as she turned her head to stare out the window. "Or maybe you can. Okay, I get it. You're pissed at me. I'm sorry I made you leave that big, hairy, drooling mutt behind, but come on. Don't you think you're being a little childish?"
Dean didn't need to look to know she was glaring at him, probably wishing she could shoot green, diamond-tipped laser beams into his brain.
"Childish?" she spat out, her voice increasing in pitch and volume. "Really, Dean? Jagger could be helpful. What can your stupid car do besides get us places?"
"Hey!" Dean reached up to stroke the dashboard like a mother comforting a distraught child. "Don't listen to her, baby. She's just upset. She doesn't mean it."
"See what I mean?! You're not even listening to what I'm saying! You never do. You just do what you wanna do because you're the guy. Oh, you must be right, and I'm always wrong!"
"I never said that!"
"You don't have to, Dean! Your actions say it for you! It's all about Dean and what Dean wants to do!"
"Are we even arguing about the dog and the car anymore? I'm confused and, quite frankly, insulted now," Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel to keep himself calm and collected so he didn't say or do something he would later regret.
Ever since Sam left for college nearly four years ago without so much as a backwards glance, McKenna and Dean have been hunting, sometimes together or with John or Bobby, but for the most part they prefer to hunt alone. She has her St. Bernard, Jagger, for protection and love, and Dean has his car and one nigh stands to keep him company. When they hunted together, McKenna and Dean argued about everything from where to eat to what leads they should pursue as potential jobs. When it came down to it, though, Dean knew he was scared. Scared of failing at the job, scared of losing Sam and McKenna, scared of not being able to protect the people that mean the most to him. He'd be damned if he ever admitted it, though.
Which is why anger worked. Dean hated that McKenna exposed herself to supernatural danger ever day, and he hated the things that killed their parents and forced them into the life they lived, and he also hated the fact that he couldn't shield her from the evil that roamed around in the dark because he also needed her. And Sam, of course. But Sam chose to run away. Dean couldn't have stopped him even if he had tried harder. McKenna stayed. She knew they could never live normal, whatever that meant, like Sam wanted. Especially not after what they had seen and hunted their whole lives.
They still had at least an hour until Stanford. McKenna glanced at Dean without turning her head and saw his strong jawbone moving underneath the dark day old stubble covering his skin. His green eyes were a darker shade than normal, like the sky before a tornado ripped through town, making her wish she could hear what he was thinking because he sure as hell wouldn't tell. Instead, she turned up the radio to drown out the silence and sang along as Mick Jagger refused to be a beast of burden.
After breaking into Sam's off-campus apartment, Dean and McKenna roamed around in the dark until they found the kitchen. Dean was rooting through the refrigerator for a beer when he felt a solid body slam into his side. They both went sprawling across the peeling linoleum floor, but before any punches were thrown McKenna found the light switch and yelled for them to stop.
"Dean?" Sam squinted up from where his older brother had him pinned to the floor.
"You're outta practice," Dean smirked, his victory short-lived when Sam jabbed his elbow into Dean's ribcage and rolled so the older man was laying on his back. "Or maybe not. Get off me." Dean shoved at Sam's chest. The younger man stood, reached his hand down to help his brother off the floor, then glanced back to see McKenna walking towards him with an amused smile on her face.
"What are you two doing here?" Sam asked.
"Well, I was just lookin' for a beer," Dean grinned.
"Dean. What the hell are you doing here?" Sam punctuated each word to get his point across. The smile disappeared from McKenna's face.
"All right, just chill," Dean began, but before he could say anything else, they heard a sleepy voice from the doorway.
"Sam?" the voice was female. "Sam, what's going on?"
All three turned to see a beautiful, long-legged blonde standing in the doorway, dressed in a low-cut, midriff-baring T-shirt and short, terry cloth shorts, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. McKenna immediately disliked this girl, but when Dean's expression softened into his patented Winchester charm grin, she felt something akin to hatred flare up in her chest.
"Aw, I love the Smurfs," Dean gestured toward the blonde's shirt as his eyes roved up and down her curvy, scantily clad body. "I've gotta say, you are way outta my brother's league."
"Mmhmm," the girl didn't seem surprised or even phased by the strange man hitting on her, "just let me go put something on."
"Oh no no, I wouldn't dream of it," Dean grinned. "Seriously." Both Sam and McKenna rolled their eyes.
"Jess," Sam was at his girlfriend's side in two strides, "this is my brother Dean and my childhood friend McKenna."
Childhood friend? The last time she checked, McKenna had been there the night Sam stormed out and slammed that final door on his family. That was barely four years ago.
"Guys, this is my girlfriend Jessica," Sam wrapped his long arm around the blonde's tiny waist and pulled her close to his side. She looked up at him and smiled as if all she needed was to know he was there for everything to be okay, even if there were strangers in her house.
"Well, Jessica, we need to borrow your boyfriend for awhile," McKenna said, barely looking at the pretty girl who knew nothing about Sam's former life.
"But if was nice meeting you," Dean said with a wink at Jess.
"No," Sam shook his head, "whatever you have to say, you can say it to both of us." The stubborn set of his chin and jaw dared Dean and McKenna to disagree with him, but after a short pause Dean answered with, "Okay. Dad hasn't been home in a few days."
"So he's probably just working overtime on a Miller Time shift. He'll come stumbling back in sooner or later."
"Dad's on a hunting trip, and he hasn't been home in a few days," Dean repeated. McKenna watched Sam's stubbornness melt into a frown and hard eyes that never left his brother's face as he said, "Jess, would you excuse us, please."
"I mean, come on, you guys," Sam said as the three of them headed to the alley behind the apartment building where Dean had parked the car away from curious neighbors with prying eyes. "You can't just break into my house in the middle of the night and expect me to hit the road with you."
"You're not hearing, Sammy," Dean said. "Dad's missing. We need your help to find him."
"Remember the poltergeist in Amhurst, or the Devil's Gate in Clifton? He was missing then too. He's always missing and he's always fine," Sam argued.
"Not for this long. Are you coming with us or not?"
"I'm not," Sam stopped following his brother and best friend.
"What?" McKenna grabbed Dean's leather jacket sleeve to make him stop walking. They both turned to face the tall, obstinate man. "Why not?"
"I swore I was done hunting for good," Sam reminded them, slipping his hands into the pockets of the hoodie he had thrown on over his T-shirt.
"Come on, it wasn't easy, but it wasn't that bad," McKenna said, wishing she could talk some sense into the guy. She would give anything to see her dad alive just one more time.
"Yeah?" Sam challenged. "When I told Dad I was scared of the thing in my closet he gave me a .45."
"Well what was he supposed to do?" Dean asked.
"I was nine years old! He was supposed to say 'Don't be afraid of the dark'."
"Don't be afraid of the dark? What, are you kidding me? Of course you should be afraid of the dark! You know what's out there!" McKenna argued. She knew Sam had always hated hunting, but she also thought he would do anything for his family, even if that meant sacrificing his dream for a normal life. What had that girl done to her best friend to make him not care about his own father?
"Yeah I know, but still….The way we grew up after Mom was killed, and Dad's obsession to find the thing that did it," Sam searched his brother's face for some indication that he was at least in some agreement with him, if not completely on his side, but Dean was clearly just as dedicated to hunting as McKenna was. "But we still haven't found the damn thing, so we kill everything we can find."
"Save a lot of people doing it, too," Dean reminded Sam as he turned and continued walking to his car. McKenna was close behind.
"You think Mom would have wanted this for us?" Sam asked as he followed them to the car. "The weapons training and melting silver into bullets? Man, we were raised like warriors!"
"So what're you gonna do?" Dean jammed the key into the trunk lock and turned abruptly. "You just gonna live some normal, apple-pie life? Is that it?"
"No. Not normal. Safe."
"And that's why you ran away," Dean said, more a statement than a question, as he unlocked the trunk and lifted the lid.
"I was just going to college," Sam shook his head. "It was Dad who said if I was going I should stay gone. And that's what I'm doing."
"Yeah, well, Dad's in real trouble if he's not dead already. I can feel it," Dean lifted the false bottom of the trunk to reveal an arsenal. He propped open the lid with a sawed-off shotgun then began digging around obviously searching for something.
Sam signed in defeat, "Fine. What was he hunting?" Sam and McKenna also leaned over the trunk as Dean continued his search, moving an assortment of guns, knives, rosary beads, amulets to find where he stashed his and McKenna's research.
"So, when Dad left, how come you two didn't go with him?" Sam looked from McKenna to Dean as he asked the question.
"We were working our own gig," McKenna explained. "This voodoo thing down in New Orleans."
"Dad let you go on a hunting trip alone?" Sam directed the question to his older brother.
Dean turned his head and narrowed his eyes at Sam, "I'm twenty-six, dude."
"And he wasn't alone," McKenna spoke up, glaring at the back of Dean's head as he stuck it back into the trunk to pull out what he had been searching for.
"Oh yeah, McKenna was there, too," Dean smirked, earning him a smack to the back of his head. "Damn girl, why you gotta hit me!"
"Why you gotta talk to me like that," McKenna fired back. Sam just laughed.
"Whatever," Dean held up a small stack of papers that looked like they had been printed off of the internet, reminding them there were more important things than his and McKenna's almost constant bickering. "Here it is. So, Dad was checking out this two-lane blacktop outside of Jericho, California." Dean handed the paper on top of the pile to Sam. It was printed from the Jericho Herald's website and pictured a young man, probably in his late twenties or early thirties, with a short explanation of his disappearance. "About a month ago, this guy – they found his car – but he'd vanished completely MIA."
"So maybe he was kidnapped," Sam offered, studying the face of the man on the page.
"Yeah, well. There's another one in April, another one in December '04, '03, '98, '92," Dean handed Sam each of the printed newspaper clippings as he listed them off.
"Ten of them over the past twenty years," McKenna explained. "All men, all same five-mile stretch of road. Started happening more and more, so your dad went to go dig around."
"That was three weeks ago," Dean put in. "I hadn't heard from him since, which is bad enough. Then I got this voicemail yesterday." Dean pulled his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and played the message. John Winchester's deep, no-nonsense voice was barely discernable through the static on the recording, but Sam could still make out the urgency and warning in his tone as he told Dean something was starting to happen and he had to figure out what it was. The rest of John's message was lost in static.
"You know there's EVP on that," Sam stated as Dean flipped his phone closed.
"Not bad, Sammy. Kinda like riding a bike isn't it?" Dean pulled a small, handheld tape recorder out of his trunk. "I slowed the message down and ran it through a Gold Wave, took out the hiss, and this is what I got." Dean pressed play and a woman's breathy voice said, "I can never go home."
"Never go home," Sam's eyes darted from Dean to McKenna as if searching for an answer or some other explanation, but Dean just shut his trunk and turned to face his taller brother.
"You know, in almost four years I've never bothered you, never asked you for a thing," Dean said.
Sam agreed to go as long as he was back on campus by Monday. He had an interview to get into Stanford's law school, and there was no way he was giving up his future with Jess and safety just because his dad was obsessed with hunting evil and his brother was worried.
McKenna was happy that Sam finally found his niche in the world plus a life that satisfied him, but the other part of her wanted to be hunting with him again, or spending every waking moment they could together. She really missed teaming up against Dean in their prank wars, telling Sam her secrets while he told her his dreams, being the one he vented to when his dad or Dean got on his case, laughing just because his laugh was so infectious, and listening as he offered wisdom with sensitivity and love even when they both knew she was out of line. But he had another life now, a new best friend, and she was pushed to the back of his mind like his unused prom suit at the back of a closet in Bobby's house.
She remembered Sam was so excited he was giddy that he could finally do something as normal as attend his senior prom. His dad and Dean were on an indefinite hunting trip, which meant John couldn't lecture his youngest son out of what he wanted to do. So, Sam had dragged McKenna to the mall to help him pick out of relatively low-priced, but still classy suit, and while they were browsing through the vast array of colorful ties – some with stripes, polka dots, paisley patterns, solid colors – Sam had turned as she asked his opinion of a particular tie she liked and asked if she wanted to go to prom with him. After a long pause followed by much stuttering and unintelligible words on her part, Sam assured her it wasn't a date or anything. They were just going as friends, best friends, because Sam wanted to share his special night with someone he actually cared about. Not just some random pretty girl who only agreed to go with him to keep up appearances in front of her equally shallow friends. McKenna said yes, bought material to match Sam's vest and tie, but before she could finish making her dress John and Dean had come home early to drag Sam back with them. The spirit they were fighting was stronger than they had anticipated, and they needed an extra set of hands with fighting prowess and brainpower to put the thing down for good.
Sam didn't even have time to warn her or say goodbye. He had called her from a motel room in Illinois, apologizing profusely, to explain why he couldn't take her to the prom anymore and that he was sorry he didn't have time to say goodbye, and could she forgive him because she was the one person in his life he could trust to keep his secrets and he didn't know what he would do without her to prevent him from doing something irrational. On the other end, McKenna had laughed at his melodramatic apology, but said she forgave him. No, she wasn't mad, and she would never stop caring about him or valuing his friendship. Two months after that, he had run away to Stanford and, apparently, was able to put his entire life, including the people in it, behind him as he started fresh. McKenna just wanted her best friend back, but knew that would never happen as long as she was hunting with his brother and he was at school planning a future with Jess.
But McKenna never wanted her wish to come true the way that it did. That weekend ended with Jess burning on the ceiling as Dean dragged his screaming brother out of the apartment building, and McKenna lied to the firemen to keep the police from questioning Sam. For the next two years, Sam's obsession to find Jessica's killer brought him closer to his dad, but he wasn't, and would never be, the sweet, sensitive Sam she befriended on the swing set, or the confident, bright-eyed senior who asked her to prom.
Dean's stint in Hell as payment for Sam's life almost killed both of them that third summer. Then Dean was brought back from the dead, and with him came a whole new set of problems. Sam became too trusting of Ruby, a demon with ulterior motives, and hungered for power while pushing Dean and McKenna away. Dean, tortured and hardened by what he did and what was done to him in Hell, finally broke, giving McKenna a glimpse at the vulnerable, needy side he usually hides behind humor and a both-guns-blazing approach to demon hunting. And McKenna stuck around to help Dean pull Sam down from his addiction to power and lust for demon blood. She listened and offered her comfort when Dean opened up about his four months – or forty years – in Hell, picked up the pieces of his fractured relationship with Sam and acted as mediator to sew them back together. She kept on loving him even when her own heart shattered as Dean drowned his emotions in casual, meaningless sex, alcohol, and hunting. All the while, her St. Bernard, Jagger, remained loyal and proved to be an excellent guardian dog and companion for the lonely nights she spent in the motel, anxiety and worry turning her stomach into acidic knots threatening to rise into her throat and block off her air supply.
Jagger often slept on McKenna's bed, his huge head resting on her back or stomach, providing safety against the things that go bump in the night and comfort against her internal fears when Dean was with whatever faceless bimbo he found at the bar and Sam was off with Ruby. However, the knots in her stomach only disappeared when Dean and Sam came back.
Dean had relented and let Jagger come along with them after the first year of hunting as a trio. He noticed McKenna didn't enjoy the late night bar scene, so she would often go back to the motel room by herself. He didn't want to stop her because he knew she needed the sleep, but he also hated that she was alone. The dog had proven to be a solace for McKenna as well as a fierce fighter and guardian on the job. Besides, Jagger was also good at keeping the horny hunters and grabby drunkards from hitting on McKenna. Not that she couldn't take care of herself, but Dean felt better knowing she didn't have to rely on her own strength all the time. She had him and Sam, sure, but she was too stubborn to accept their help, especially when it came to her safety. She called him an old-fashioned chauvinist. He called it taking care of the only family he had left.