365 days, well technically, 363 days now. That's how long he had to live. After getting over the initial "what the fuck have I done?" aspect of the situation, there was a certain freedom Dean felt knowing exactly when he'd be checking out. That was when he wasn't brooding on the fact that he'd be spending eternity in hell.

As the Impala purred down the highway Dean cast a quick glance at his brother. Nazareth blared around them as Sam poured through their father's journal looking for any mention of making deals with a demon, and more importantly how to break them. He highly doubted that Sam would find his salvation in the journal. Aside from blackmailing the demon who'd been after Evan Hudson and his father climbing his way out of hell, he had never heard of anyone getting out of a deal.

His eyes drifted back to the long, empty road before them. Dean had a feeling that blackmail wouldn't work with the demon. Not that he knew how to find her – it. Tracking the Yellow-Eyed Bastard who started this all in the first place had been downright impossible. He had no idea how his father had pieced the clues together and managed to follow the demonic bread crumbs. He and Sammy certainly hadn't managed it without help and now Ash was gone.

A ball of fury curled in his stomach. Ash was dead because he'd been trying to help them. Dean knew it was his choice. Ash had hung around the Roadhouse long enough to know that there were consequences to facing the darkness in the world, but the loss of the oddball mullet-head stung.

Good people fell in this line of work. He knew that … hell he experienced first hand; first with father and then with Sam. Dean clutched the wheel tighter as coldness settled over him at the memory of holding a dying Sam in his arms. The moment had literally been the worst of his life.

Everyone he ever loved had been taken from him, and he failed the person most important to him – Sam. His baby brother had always been his responsibility. Protecting him, keeping him safe was the driving purpose of his life. Beyond the need to please his father and to avenge his mother, being there for Sam was his priority.

Failing him was never an option. Having 363 days with Sam was better then a lifetime of guilt without him. Going to hell was a fair price to pay so that his brother could live. In a way Sam understood what he'd done, and that knowledge helped Dean, even though he knew his brother could never accept it.

The station started to fade out as Nazareth transition into Skynryd. Sam flicked the radio off. "Hey," Dean complained. "I'm driving," he said his tone warning. There were rules when it came to traveling and Sam knew to respect them.

"I think I found something," he said. They locked gazes for a long, tense moment.

"Don't keep me in suspense Sammy," Dean remarked with a grin, trying to come off as uninterested. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam make his patented "this is important, don't act like it's not" face.

Fingering a page in the journal he said, "Dad crossed out the initials E. S. and a set of coordinates."

"And that's useful?" Dean questioned.

"E. S. is a tracker Dean," Sam huffed. It was clear to Dean that he didn't appreciate the fact that he was squashing his first bit of hope.

"Whatever dude. If Dad crossed out the name it probably means that he moved on." He left out the other option, which was or dead. Dean had a feeling that mentioning that would make Sam pissy and he was getting enough attitude at the moment.

"We're checking it out," Sam informed him with an authoritative snap as he shut the journal.

"And how do you expect to find this E. S.?" Dean queried. "The white pages?"

"If we have to, yeah. I'll go door-to-door if necessary."

"No."

"What do you mean no?" Sam exclaimed, annoyance seeping into his voice. "This person could help us."

"We're following the plan and meeting up with Bobby and Ellen. They might be able to tell us who E. S. is anyhow, and if they can't, then maybe we'll check it out."

"Dean," his brother protested.

"Doorway to hell opening up. Remember that?" he asked his brother harshly. "It's a free-for-all right now, Sam, and like it or not it's our mess to clean up."

"I know that." Sam's voice was as tight as the tension in the car between them.

"One thing at a time then," Dean said trying to smooth things over. Instead of replying Sam flicked the radio back on and proceeded to ignore him.

---

The rundown house in the center of the junkyard didn't look like much, but it was the closet thing they had to safety. Bobby's place had been their refuge after their father died and being able to come back to it, hell come back to anything, felt good to Sam. It wasn't exactly home, but it was the closest he'd come to it since losing Jess.

"Do you see his truck?" he asked Dean as they drove through the collection of junk.

"No," his brother replied as he braked behind a pile of stacked scrap metal that was a good twenty yards from the house. Dean cut the motor and nodded towards the pristine '56 Buick parked by the side of the house. It stuck out like a sore thumb in the messy, dusty lot. "Looks like company."

"Think it's friendly?"

"Dunno," Dean answered as he pulled out his cell. Bobby was on speed dial and it only took him a single ring to answer. "We're here," Sam heard him say. "Uh-huh. Yeah. You sure?"

The one sided conversation aggravated Sam. "Well?" he asked when Dean ended the call.

"Friendly, apparently," he said, reaching into the backseat. Sam knew what he was after. One of the small knives Dean liked to hide in his boot; he always kept one tucked underneath his seat for quick access.

"You're suiting up?"

Dean flashed him a grin, the charming one that seemed to make otherwise intelligent women melt. "Never can be too careful."

Considering their work, Sam couldn't fault Dean's logic, but he also trusted Bobby. Instinct, however, prevailed and he reached for a similar knife under his seat. He was tucking it into his boot when Dean got out of the car. Looking up he saw his brother wave to Bobby and Ellen. Pulling his pant down over his weapon Sam opened the car door and stepped out.

---

He took a minute to inspect the dark blue automobile. After eight years it was still in prime condition. That wasn't the surprise that floored Bobby. No, the fact that car was there at all did.

"You all right?" Ellen asked.

Bobby rapped on the hood, "Yeah," he sighed before the four of them headed into the house. The sight and smell that greeted them had Dean's mouth hanging open after he breathed out, "What the hell." The once heavily cluttered and dusty house was organized and spotless, and the aroma of fresh baked cookies hung in the air. Drifting in from the dinning room he could hear the familiar off-key voice singing along with Janis Joplin.

Without saying anything he continued on into the other room. She was standing on one of his ancient chairs, stretched out on her tip-toes as she arranged his books in the built-in cabinets. Dressed in yellow tank-top and loose fitting cargo pants, her hair was tied up in a knot on her head, and he could see the perspiration beaded on her neck. "Took you long enough," she said not bothering to turn around.

Her voice was different, more mature. Bobby wasn't certain why he expected it to be the same, but the image he had of her was frozen in time.

"I can't say that you were expected, sweetheart," Dean mouthed off.

She turned then, an amused smile quirking her lips, which didn't falter when she took in their ragged appearance. "Interesting company you're keeping these days, Bobby."

Bobby not Dad. Considering he never cared what she called when she was child, just that she did what she was told, it unsettled him to hear her call him by his given name. "I thought you were never coming back here."

"Hadn't planned on it," she said hopping down off the chair, "but it's not everyday that a door to hell is opened."

"How'd you know about that?" Ellen asked suspiciously.

"She has her ways," he answered for her. He felt the weight of his companions' gazes on him, but explaining about his daughter wasn't something Bobby wanted to do at the moment.

"Ways?" Sam questioned.

"Look," she started to say, but stopped as her entire form went tense. "You were followed."

"What?"

"No way."

Ignoring their skepticism she hurried across the room to them. "I have salt lines down in the kitchen," she said trying to usher them in that direction.

"We weren't followed," Dean argued.

His daughter shot him a glance. "Kitchen now," he ordered. Dean continued to protest so Bobby pushed him towards the small room, Sam and Ellen behind them.

"Bobby would you explain what's going on?" Ellen asked as Sam stepped over the line of salt, before crying out "Hey," as she was nudged over herself.

There was a loud whoosh and then a sickening crack as his girl was thrown against the far wall. Some of the books she'd so neatly been arranging thudded to the floor. "Son of bitch," Dean cursed and started to charge towards the dining room.

Bobby stepped in front of him and held out his hand, blocking Dean. "Don't." The boy looked like he was about to argue with him when their unwelcome guest spoke up.

"Goody, the gang is all here."

---

From behind her new façade Meg surveyed her prey. Bobby and Ellen were of little importance to her, and while she had her own plans for Sam, her reason for being there was Dean. He executed her father and she was there to see that he paid; line of salt or not, he'd be dead before she left. "Guess who yet?"

"Farmer Ted?" Dean offered with his usual nonchalance.

"You really don't want to piss me off," she warned, her eyes flashing back.

"No, I really think I do."

"Dean," Sam hissed nodding towards the girl not within the salt lines. This drew Meg's attention back to the girl, who moaned as her eyes fluttered open. "Howdy, Evie."

Her dark eyes swam with pain and confusion. "I know you?"

"No, we never had the pleasure, but my Father was quite fond of you."

"Meg," Sam whispered in disbelief. Took him long enough to piece it together, she thought.

"As in the demon that possessed you?" Ellen asked for clarification. "The one who worked for the Yellowed-Eyed Demon."

"Yes," Sam answered, clearly angered by her presence.

"Wait. What does the Demon have to do with Angie?" Dean inquired.

"Evie," Bobby corrected.

"This isn't a game of twenty …" Meg trailed off. "They have no idea who she is do they?" She laughed as Bobby shifted uncomfortably. "All those years and Daddy never told why he and Bobby had a falling out?"

"We're not interested in any lies you have to spew," Sam informed her.

"We don't always lie," she replied back with wicked grin.

"Would you mind skipping the melodrama and getting on with your revenge attempt?" Evie piped up from behind her.

"Why, when I can have both?"

---

Confusion. Mistrust. Doubt. Wrath. Pain.

Pain was definitely the strongest. It radiated through her when she tried to move. Not that she got anywhere. Pinned by a demon. God, she hated that feeling. It was bad enough that she willingly roped herself back into this mess, now she was going to have to relive how she managed to escape it in the first place. Unless …

"Introductions first. Sam, Dean meet Evelyn Singer, Bobby's not so precious little girl. Evie, Sam and Dean Winchester. But I'm sure you knew that already."

Actually she hadn't. She figured, but it wasn't like she was a physic. At least not in way any physic she'd met had been – she was more empathic. "Sure, fine. Why not," Evie replied. "I'd wave but my appendages aren't exactly my own at the moment."

"We're not doing this," Bobby stated harshly.

"Oh, but I think we are," Meg, as Sam had named her, shot back. "Besides, I think once Dean knows how Evie helped Daddy dearest, he'll be more than happy to step over that line of salt so that I can tear him into pieces."

"You can spin any story you like but that's not going to happen," Sam promised.

"Aw, you think you can save him," Meg laughed.

"I will save him."

Keep auguring, Evie thought. Keep her distracted.

"Poor delusional Sam. Dean is as good as gone. Why put off the –" Meg stopped in mid-sentence and sucked in a painful breath. "You're … gonna … regret … that," she ground before Evie felt herself go flying. She managed to keep up her hushed words even as she crashed against the grandfather clock. The glass shattered and fell around her, but Evie could see the toll the exorcism was taking on the demon.

---

"No one is crossing that line," Ellen said as her companions started towards the doorway. "She a big girl, she can handle it." To cement her point Meg writhed in pain.

"She can't do this alone," Bobby insisted. He had that look in his eyes. It was a familiar look for Ellen, or any parent really who saw their child in harm's way.

The Latin continued as another crash sounded. Ellen flinched, but continued to argue with the men who were itching to cross the line of salt and enter the fray. Behind her in the dining room a battle of wills was taking place and Ellen would lay odds on a Singer any day.

---

Hard, unforgiving demonic eyes met his. "This isn't over," Meg vowed before pulling a vanishing act. Dean started to push past Ellen when the girl ordered him not to. He had every intention of ignoring it, but Sam grabbed his shoulder. Dean flashed his brother an irritated look, but Sam returned his display with a determined grimace of his own.

Bruised and bloody, Evie crawled towards them and he watched as Bobby leaned down to help her into the kitchen. "I put a first aid kit under the sink."

"I'm not sure that's gonna be enough," Ellen told her hunching down to inspect the damage.

"It will do," she groaned resting her head against the wall.

"Here," Bobby said handing the first aid kit to Ellen. A look passed between them that Dean didn't quite understand before the older man stepped back and let Ellen go to work patching up his daughter. Bobby had a kid – Dean was still having trouble wrapping his mind around that one, but what was really nagging him was Meg's hinting at Evie knowing his father. That she had helped him. How did that all tie into the falling out between his father and Bobby? And what did it have to do with the Yellow-Eyed Demon?

Dean nudged Sam. His brother followed his hint and they crossed the compact room to where Bobby was standing, his eyes glued to floor. "How much of what Meg was hinting is true?" Dean asked flat out.

Bobby sighed.

---

Sam had never seen Bobby look so broken down. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Dean not to push him when Bobby started to speak. "Evie did help your father," he relayed. "It was years ago."

A hiss sounded from the other side of the room. Sam glanced over and saw Ellen picking pieces of glass out of Evie's shoulder. His brow furled as he put the pieces together. Evie had known that Meg was near by – sensed her somehow, which meant that maybe – the tracker E. S. The coordinates. Evie Singer, Bobby's daughter, was the tracker his father referred to in his journal. "She helped him track the Yellow-Eyed Demon didn't she?"

"What?" Dean uttered, flashing him a look of confusion.

"Yeah, she did."

"Did they find him?" he inquired.

Bobby finally glanced over to his daughter, before meeting his gaze. He nodded. "That's how John found out that he had plans for you and the other children."