Maddy was happy–her money was finally under control. She enjoyed looking at the monthly statements on the SinWin account, amused by all he places the men pulled out money. Usually that's all she did, but sometimes she'd get out a map and find the towns. Ever so often she'd look up a name on the internet because the town was so small it wasn't on the map. They certainly wandered all over the country.

Dean wrote her letters ever so often. Genuine, hand written, post-office delivered letters. Always on hotel/motel stationery. From the variety of logos, letterheads and names the men never stayed in a name brand motel.

The first letter thanked her for the money. Not having to hustle pool unless he felt like it had "improved his quality of life." She laughed at that. He went on to say "The work we do saves lives, but sometimes the people we save are not the same afterwards. Especially the kids who have helped us. It isn't fair and we can't do anything about it, but maybe you can. If you still have money to burn, maybe you could put some in a college fund for Lucas Barr, Lake Monitowoc, Wisconsin. He saw his grandfather drown, but he was saved. Michael Sorenson of Fitchburg, Wisconsin helped kill the thing that attacked his brother. It went after Sam when he was little so I really wanted to stop it before it hurt anyone else. Richie and Sari Cooper, Lawrence, Kansas, were bothered by a poltergeist in my parents' old house. Claire Novak, Pontiac, Illinois, lost her Dad and she's a great kid." There were several other names from all over the US. Maddy had her lawyer set up trust funds for them, and relayed the news through Jody.

Since she responded to his first letter, Dean kept writing. She was often amused by his suggestions. Things like a college education for a kid she could understand. A donation to Sonny's Home for Boys, OK, though she really wondered what the story was there. But why the contributions to small museums and local historical societies all over the country? Dean always pointed out they were tax deductible, which made her laugh since she never signed her name to anything she gave and he knew it. She shook her head in puzzlement when he asked her to send a ram's horn to a synagogue. It took her a full day to find one on the internet.

Then one day this letter came:

Dear Ms Anderson (all his letters started this way),

We will not be taking any more money. It's too dangerous for you and probably for us. I can't tell you when, or if, you will hear from us again. Something bigger than we can handle is loose, and we're not sure what we can do about it. We're working on it.

Please don't go to a beauty shop or a doctor or any place a stranger can touch you or get hold of your hair, nails, dead skin, anything that was part of you. In fact, don't leave your house if you can help it. Don't let anyone in either. Not even Jody.

Don't buy anything associated with Dick Roman Industries and sell anything you own of his. He's a bad guy and when he goes down his empire will crash.

Stay safe.

Dean

Maddy didn't stop the flow of funds into the account. She figured some day the men would need it and it was a pain to change the arrangements anyway. She had groceries delivered to the house. It wasn't a big deal for her; she was borderline agoraphobic anyway. She had the delivery guy leave the bags on the porch and didn't bring them in until he was gone. Better to be safe than sorry, she thought. She bought online gift cards to grocery stores and places like Biggersons and Polly's Pies, having them delivered to Jody to pass on. She knew the sheriff still saw them occasionally.

Weeks later she received another letter, this time from Bobby Singer, telling her to keep a squirt gun full of a borax/water mixture by her door and squirt anyone who knocks. If their skin burns, she'd know they're very dangerous. Maddy kept an even lower profile than before.

She cried when Bobby's house burned. She learned about Bobby's death from Jody, and they cried together. Then Dick Roman disappeared in a lab explosion at his Chicago offices and Roman Industries collapsed, just like Dean predicted. She kept money flowing into the account, though Jody didn't know what happened to Sam or Dean.

Some lawyer sent her a letter saying she'd been named Executor in Bobby Singer's will, which left everything in trust for the Winchesters. It was a complicated estate because it included the unsettled estate of a Rufus Turner (Jody collapsed laughing when she heard that), who'd left everything to Bobby. It seemed Rufus had a lot of money and a lot of property. She was glad both men had used the same lawyer. He was a good one, too. She filed all the appropriate paperwork, and they waited for Sam or Dean to appear.

Months passed. At first she just kept the salvage yard free of weeds, but Tom Marshall came back from Iraq and needed a good job so she hired him to run the the place. He bought every 67 Impala that came his way, just in case. That smart lawyer had put everything in order for her, and if something unforeseen happened the money would continue into the account. If nothing was withdrawn in seven years, he'd get the courts to declare the Winchesters dead and she'd do something else with the money. She hoped that wouldn't happen.

Sure enough, Jody answered the phone one day and there was Sam Winchester. needing her help. She delivered the new debit cards Maddy had ready and withdrawals started on both cards. Letters came again.

This time Sam wrote as often as Dean. They still made strange requests. Sam asked for a donation to a veterinary clinic, oddly enough. Dean asked for a trust fund for a young woman in Louisiana who ran a restaurant. The letters weren't all on hotel/motel letterhead any more, but on yellow lined paper, usually postmarked Kansas. She guessed they'd found another home base.

Sometimes she thought about writing them back, but what would she say? That she enjoyed their letters? That she liked spreading her money all over the country? They probably knew all that, Jody would have told them. Better just let her money talk for her. She'd have lunch with Jody every Wednesday, like they'd done for years now, and Jody could pass on anything important.

Maddy was happy. She had a good friend, her money was under control and she was helping people. What more could anyone want out of life?