A/N: Good news, sports fans! This story and the next three are all complete; I'll post a chapter a day until they're all posted.

A brief word of explanation about Stanford's coterminal programs, most of which are in the sciences: The idea is that a student entering as a freshman will study for five years instead of the standard four, start Master's-level work while finishing the Bachelor's, and in most cases graduate with both the BS and MS at the same time.

Also, a warning: John's really a thoughtless jerk in this one, even when he tries not to be.

The Stanford Adventure Club
By San Antonio Rose

Chapter 1
Breaking up the Band

January 28, 1998
Colorado Springs, Colorado

"Stanford?!" Dean and Sammy Winchester gasped in excited chorus.

Gil Wulfenbach blinked. "Okay. That's exactly what Dad and Agatha both said when I called them. Why is Stanford such a big deal?"

Dean's jaw dropped, but Sammy replied, "It's one of the eight schools in the Ivy League—the most prestigious colleges in the country."

Gil frowned. "I thought that was a sports term."

"Well, it is, kinda, but most college athletic conferences are based on geography. The Ivy League was created specifically for those schools precisely because of their reputations."

"Huh. Wow. I just liked what I read about their coterminal Aeronautics and Astronautics program. It's really that elite?"

Sammy nodded so hard, Gil thought his head might fall off. "I'd love to get into one of the Ivies. Everyone thinks—I mean—the way we live—"

"Dude," Dean interrupted, "you do not have to explain to us."

Sammy blushed a little and nodded in acknowledgment before returning his attention to Gil. "So they gave you a full ride?"

Gil nodded. "Says National Merit covers the first four years, and since I already know I want to apply to Aero/Astro after the first two years, Boeing will cover the rest. Tuition and fees, at least; doesn't say about room and board."

It was really a minor miracle, he thought, that he hadn't lost his place as a National Merit Scholar. He and Dean should have graduated the year before, but in March they'd both caught mono from the same girl—without either of them even having kissed her!—and had been laid up for so long that they'd had to repeat their senior year. Dad's friend Dr. Sun had put Gil straight in the hospital because his organs were swelling badly, and Dean had joined him after about a week with pneumonia on top of the mono. Dr. Sun still wasn't sure they hadn't been cursed. All Gil knew for sure was that he'd never been so sick in all his life... not that he ever got sick much, but when he did, it never lasted long.

"There should be other scholarships that can help with that part," Sammy stated. "You could go talk to the counselor about it tomorrow."

"Actually, I can't," Gil admitted, fighting a smile. "Gotta get my paperwork together so I can transfer out this weekend."

"Transfer? Transfer where?"

Dean grinned knowingly. "Beetleburg?"

Gil ducked his head and couldn't prevent a blush or a sheepish grin. "Yeah. Dad said he'd set things up with the Harvelles so I can stay at the Roadhouse until graduation."

Dean laughed and punched Gil's shoulder. "You dog! If you don't ask Ags out this time, I swear I'm gonna do it for you."

Gil felt his face grow hotter. "Dean, I'm perfectly capable—"

"Yeah, sure, which is why your face is redder than Tarvek's hair right now."

A suspicious burble that probably wasn't caused by the aerator burst from the lobster tank.

And the penny finally dropped for Sammy. "OHHHH! Dude, that's awesome!"

Gil grinned so hard his cheeks hurt. Then he took a deep breath. "So Dean, have you—"

Now it was Dean's turn to duck his head. "Man, I didn't even think about applying to the Ivies."

"But did you get in anywhere?"

"Georgia Tech," he mumbled.

"DUDE!" Sammy cried. "That's awesome!"

"Georgia Tech was my second choice, actually," Gil agreed. "Third choice was MIT."

Dean sighed. "Yeah, but... we're gonna be on opposite coasts."

"Dean, real friendships don't depend on distance. I'm sure we'll both have email, plus there's a variety of instant messaging software out there, and more coming out all the time. It'll be easy to keep in touch."

Dean's eyebrows had gone up at the words instant messaging. "Don't you have to, like, subscribe to AOL to get instant messaging?"

"Maybe for AIM; I don't know. But ICQ is free."

"It still won't be the same."

"I know that. But look, Agatha and I have been pen pals for... six years now? And we've lived in how many places in that time? It's not that hard to keep up a long-distance friendship if you make the time for it."

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, guess you're right."

"Plus, you'll be in one place for four whole years. You'll make tons of new friends—maybe even a real girlfriend!"

"What are you talkin' about?" Dean shot back, but he was smiling. "My girlfriends are real!"

"Dean, you don't have girlfriends," Sammy chimed in, rolling his eyes. "You have hook-ups. That's not the same."

Dean opened his mouth to retort, but he was interrupted by the sound of a truck pulling up outside. "That's Dad," he observed instead. "I don't hear Uncle Klaus, though."

Gil shook his head. "No, Dad said he'd catch up with me in Beetleburg. He's got some sort of side job he has to take care of—pretty hush-hush. I don't think it's a hunt."

"Oh. Welp, guess I'd better go give Dad the good news, see if he'll let us go to Beetleburg with you." And with that, Dean went back through the connecting door and closed it behind him.

Sammy, meanwhile, stayed behind to help Gil feed Zoing and chatter about colleges and hopes and dreams. Gil was just explaining his idea for a new type of search and rescue helicopter when they heard Uncle John yell "WHAT?!"

Sammy and Gil both flinched and turned to look at the connecting door with wide eyes as Dean's barely audible voice tried to compete with Uncle John's raised voice. Gil couldn't make out much, but he did catch phrases like "responsibility to this family" and "Klaus Wulfenbach is not your father! I am!" And he didn't have to hear Dean's reply to feel his fear, anger, hurt, and disappointment.

Finally, Unc—John stormed out and drove off again. And Dean came back into the Wulfenbachs' room, looking like he was about to cry, and slid something into the trash can next to the dresser.

"What did he say?" Sammy asked.

Dean shook his head despondently. "Forget it, Squirt."

"Deeean..."

"I said forget it. I don't wanna talk about it."

"Is there anything I can do?" Gil asked quietly.

Dean took a deep breath. "Would you... take Sammy to school for me tomorrow?"

Gil nodded. "Sure, Dean."

"Thanks." Dean turned to Sammy. "C'mon. Time for homework."

Sammy sighed heavily and followed Dean through the connecting door. Once it was closed, Gil went to the trash can and pulled out the envelope Dean had thrown away.

It was his Georgia Tech acceptance letter.

Gil hadn't felt such rage since Lucrezia Mongfish had forced her way out of her cursed locket and into Agatha Clay's head. It was all he could do not to crumple the letter and throw it against the wall, or into Zoing's tank. But instead, after a moment's pause, he put it carefully in his school notebook behind his own acceptance letter to preserve it.

He didn't know how he'd manage it yet, but he promised himself then and there that he'd see to it that Dean got the education he deserved, even if it didn't come with a diploma.

John Winchester shuffled out of the bathroom after his shower the next morning feeling very much in need of caffeine. He'd barely managed to wake up enough to say goodbye to the boys before they left for school. He wouldn't say he was hung over, especially since his bar crawl the night before had netted a hefty profit from hustling pool and poker before he'd lost count of the beers, but... he definitely needed coffee.

He'd helped himself and gotten through about half of his first cup when he turned to the table and saw a stubble-cheeked Dean sitting there, aimlessly stirring his cereal.

"Dean?" he asked.

"Morning, Dad," Dean murmured but didn't look up.

"Thought you left."

Dean shook his head and still didn't look up. "No, sir."

John looked around and didn't see his younger son. "Where's Sammy?"

"Gil took him to school, sir."

"Something wrong with the car?"

"No, sir."

"Are you sick?"

"No, sir."

"Well, you better get goin', then, or you'll be late."

"No, sir."

"What do you mean, 'no, sir'?"

"I mean I'm not going. Sir."

John scowled and put down his mug. "What the hell are you talking about, Dean?"

"I'm nineteen years old—"

"Like hell you are!"

Dean finally looked up at that, eyes blazing. "Dad, do you even know what day it is?!"

"It's..." John looked at his watch and froze when he read the date: 1/29. The blood drained from his face when he looked up at Dean again. "I... I missed your birthday? Son, I... I... I'm so sorry. I thought..."

Dean looked down at his mushy cereal again. "It's okay, Dad."

"No, it isn't. I don't have a good excuse, not this time."

"My point," Dean continued firmly, though still avoiding eye contact, "is that I'm an adult now, and if I'm not going to college, there's no point in my finishing high school."

That statement landed like a punch to John's gut. "That's not what I—"

"Dad, if you need my help hunting more than I need to go to college, then you need my help now. Maybe I can help you catch the thing that killed Mom even sooner. And if college isn't going to be any use in hunting, then high school's an even bigger waste of time. Just... let me get my GED and get it over with. Please."

John sat down at the table, chest aching from the defeat in Dean's voice. "Will you give me a day to think it over?"

Dean nodded glumly. "Yes, sir."

"And since you've already decided to skip a day, maybe we can do something for a belated birthday."

Dean shook his head. "Dad, you don't have to. Gil and Sammy and I already had our own party."

"That's fine, but I should have been there, and I wasn't. I should have called, if nothing else, and I didn't do that, either. I want to make that up to you. How 'bout a movie?"

"There's nothin' good in the theaters. We looked."

"Well, at least let me take you out to breakfast."

Dean sighed. "Dad, you don't have to. I know we don't have the money. Uncle Klaus had to spot us enough to get pizzas and soda."

John's stomach rolled. "What?"

"We only ate two pieces each," Dean added quickly. "And we didn't invite anyone else. We had enough to last until supper last night."

"What the hell did you do with the money I left for you?"

"I bought groceries, Dad! But the prices keep going up! I tried, I swear, but... you were gone for almost a month, but even with Gil's help, I couldn't make it stretch more than three weeks! I had to steal extra milk and fruit from the lunch counter; we were running out of peanut butter—"

John groaned. "I'm sorry, son. I didn't mean it like that."

Dean swallowed hard. "Sammy has never gone hungry, sir."

That struck a chord of dread in John's heart, and he looked—really looked—at his son for the first time in quite a while. And what he saw was a scared but determined young man who'd have been put on double or even triple rations during Basic if he'd joined the Marines. How long had Dean been stinting himself to make sure Sammy had plenty? Had Gil been doing the same? Had Gil needed to do the same?

Was that why both boys had wound up with such severe mono the previous school year? Sun had mentioned something about malnutrition...

"You're not to starve yourself anymore," John said aloud. "A starving man's a liability in combat. You let yourself get any weaker, and I won't be able to depend on you to back me up in a fight. Double rations until further notice. That's an order."

Dean nodded. "Yes, sir. But—"

"Tomorrow I want you to make me a food budget. Give me current prices, even with coupons. Factor in the double rations, too. That'll give me a better sense of how much money I need to leave you when I'm gone."

"Yes, sir."

"I want you to keep it current, too, updates every time we move."

"Yes, sir."

"As for today, I did some good hustling last night, so we can afford to eat breakfast and lunch out before we get groceries. And I don't want you saving any for Sammy, is that clear?"

Dean nodded. "Yes, sir."

"All right. Go get cleaned up."

"Yes, sir." Dean drained his mug, dumped his cereal goop in the trash, and hurried into the bathroom.

John retrieved his mug, drained and refilled it, and went back to the table to stare at his watch. He'd left money for two weeks. He thought he'd been gone for maybe two and a half. He'd actually been gone for four. How the hell had he lost so much time? He hadn't been sick or drunk (much); he just... he'd flat out forgotten what day it was.

And this college thing. He knew he'd overreacted to the idea of Dean going to college, but... his boys were all he had. Settling down for even one year was a hell of a risk, given what the demons were saying about Sammy. He couldn't lose Dean that way. Plus, he'd panicked over the cost, given that he'd spent the boys' college funds on ammo years ago. But—hellfire, he'd never meant to cause a reaction like that. Granted, the only reason he'd finished high school himself was that his recruiter wouldn't let him enlist early, but Pops would kill him if he were there to know Dean was considering dropping out, and so would Mary. At the same time, though... Dean's logic was looking pretty unassailable, and his proposal was looking awfully attractive.

How the flaming hell had he let things come to this?!

John finished his second cup about the time Dean came out of the bathroom, but they didn't say much to each other on the way to the diner or during the meal until Dean had, as ordered, eaten every bite of his eggs, pancakes, bacon, and hash browns. Dean didn't look at John much, either, even when he'd finished clearing his plate. Nor did he flirt with the waitress, who looked like she'd very much like to flirt back.

After she'd cleared their plates and left the check, John sighed. "I've been thinking it over, Dean."

Dean finally looked up. "Sir?"

"You're right. I do need you now more than you need to be in school."

Dean didn't flinch visibly, but something in his eyes said that wasn't the answer he'd been hoping for. "Y-you do?"

John nodded. "I just lost almost two weeks, and I have no idea how. Uncle Klaus didn't even remind me of your birthday. Now, on the one hand, that's not really his job anymore. But on the other hand... if I can't trust myself, and I can't trust him, I need someone else who I can trust to make sure nothing happens to Sammy if I lose it altogether."

"He could move to Atlanta with me," Dean suggested, but there wasn't much hope in his voice.

"It's too dangerous to stay in one place for that long. Besides that, I do need another pair of eyes looking for evidence of the thing that killed your mother. Uncle Klaus is starting to get more interested in looking for Barry Sanders. I can't be certain he won't miss something. But with your help, we might be able to avenge Mom before Sammy graduates. Then maybe it will be safe for him, and you, to go to college."

Dean sighed heavily. "Yes, sir."

"Now, I know you'll miss Gil. He's a good friend. But he is not your brother. And I know Agatha's your cousin, and you love her, but that in itself is not reason enough for me to let you and Sammy move to Beetleburg for the rest of the school year. Besides, the Clays don't have room for you both."

"What about the Harvelles?"

"No sons of mine are going to live in the back rooms of a bar, especially a hunter bar. There's a reason I've kept you away from all but a select few hunters, like Jim, Caleb, and Bobby. Most of the hunters I've known are not men of good character. I don't trust them at all unless I have to work with them for one reason or another. I definitely don't trust them around you."

Dean ducked his head. "Yes, sir."

"So wherever we are Monday, here or somewhere else, I want you to start the paperwork for the GED then. In the meantime, like I said: shopping today, budget tomorrow."

"Yes, sir."

That plan was immediately scrapped, however, when they got back to the truck and John's pager went off with Caleb's emergency code. As soon as they got back to the motel, John called, got details—a major ghoul nest; he couldn't risk Dean's life on that—stripped $100 off his wad of hustling money, left the rest on the table, and sped away before Dean could even ask what was going on.

He never found out that Dean unearthed the partial bottle of whiskey in the bottom of the duffle John had left behind, locked himself in the bathroom, and drank until he passed out in the bathtub. It was early enough in the day that Dean came to and managed to clean himself up before Sammy and Gil got home, but Gil still had to do the grocery run while leaving Sammy to make sure Dean didn't try to drive anywhere.

In fact, by the time John finally got back to claim his sons, Gil was long gone, Dean had passed his GED, and Sammy was in full teenager mode. And John completely forgot about the budget Dean had carefully prepared while he was away.

That went in the trash, too.

Gil tried with all his might to tell himself that leaving the Winchesters in Colorado Springs was good practice for college. That he'd be making new friends in Beetleburg. That living in Harvelle's Roadhouse for four months wasn't any different from the times Dad had left him, with or without a sitter, in the various smoke-musty motels and cheap apartments they'd lived in for as long as he could remember, even before meeting the Winchesters.

It didn't work.

Matters weren't much better at the Roadhouse when he arrived Sunday evening than they had been in Colorado Springs. Mr. Harvelle and at least half of the bar's regular customers had all gone to Wyoming on the same hunt that had presumably called Un—John away; Mrs. Harvelle was clearly worrying about the loss of business and about her husband's safety, and Jo, who was only in seventh grade, was huffy about having another boy living with them. And the boy who was already there, Ash? He'd been kicked out of MIT for fighting shortly before Thanksgiving and, at least the first day, was more interested in trying to convince Gil to smoke pot and get drunk with him than in talking about the computer he'd built from scratch. He wasn't put off by Gil's refusals and school-night disclaimers until Gil literally slammed his bedroom door in Ash's face and turned off the light.

Gil missed Dean like he'd lost a lung. And as he changed for bed in the light of Zoing's tank, the wailing of one particular weepy drunk that carried all the way back to Gil's room kept reminding him of Dean reaching again and again for the bottle Gil kept moving out of his grasp, hiccupping through his tears—'M worthless, 'm useless, can't do nothin' right no more... he lef' me, Gil, he jus' lef' me...

Before long, Gil found himself all but hugging the tank, his forehead resting against the glass as he stared into the dimly lit depths and failed not to cry. "Why wouldn't they come with us, Zoing?" he whispered brokenly. "Why wouldn't Dean leave when he had the chance?!"

Zoing made sad noises and tried to pat Gil's face through the glass.

At some point, they both fell asleep. When the alarm went off, Gil woke up on his knees with his face smushed against the tank, and the glass had a giant smudge on it when he sat up, plus tear spatter and drool marks.

"Oh, swell," he groaned. "This plan's off to a great start." He got up and got dressed so Jo wouldn't have to see him in his PJs at breakfast.

Just as he was about to leave the room, though, Zoing tapped on the tank wall.

"What?" Gil asked, turning back.

Gogetum! Zoing replied, holding up one claw as if he were offering a thumbs-up.

Gil couldn't help smiling and shooting a thumbs-up back.

Breakfast was rushed because Jo had to get to the junior high early to set up a group project, but Mrs. Harvelle did take a moment to tell Gil he looked nice. So it was with slightly more confidence that he drove himself to the high school and started inside to get checked in before the first bell.

He wasn't expecting his first sight to be a familiar blonde cowlick halfway up the front stairs. And he really wasn't prepared for Agatha to turn around suddenly, gasp, and come flying down toward him with a squeal of "GIL!"

He grinned and spread his hands. "Surprise."

She bounded off the last step and into his arms, nearly knocking him over with the combined weight of her body and backpack as she threw her arms around his neck and...

... good heavens...

... kissed him.

Oh, he'd tried to date other girls over the years. Most of them had either turned him down flat for being a nerd or gone out with him once for his looks but wound up in Dean's bed after he'd tried to talk about serious subjects over dinner. The few who hadn't all broke it off after the second or third date, saying they didn't see any future in their relationship. But none of them, he now realized, had ever had nearly the... the... electrifying effect on him that Agatha always had.

And she was a freshman now. Maybe it really was safe to admit he was in love with her. His arms went around her waist as he rocked forward, leaning into the kiss and setting her on her feet at the same time.

"What are you trying to do," he teased once he'd caught his breath, "get me busted for PDA before I've even checked in?"

She giggled. "Sorry."

"I've missed you, too," he whispered and kissed her back.

She backed off a little then, still smiling. "Where's Dean? Are he and Sam..."

He shook his head, his smile dimming. "It's just me."

"Oh. Where are you staying?"

"The Roadhouse."

She blinked. "Why? What's wrong with the motel?"

"Can't afford it—not for four months."

She gasped again. "You're here 'til graduation?!"

"Yup."

She squeaked happily and hugged him.

He chuckled. "C'mon. I don't want to make you late for class."

"Okay." She kissed him quickly and backed away. "Which lunch do you have?"

"I don't know yet. Drive you home?"

"Yes, please."

"Okay. See you then."

She gave him a dazzling smile and went inside, and he braced himself against the railing while he waited for his head to stop spinning. He took a deep breath and blew it out again—and then realized a group of several football player types were staring at him.

"What?" he asked.

"Dude," said one of the jocks. "You know Agatha Clay?!"

"Oh, yeah. We go way back."

"She your girlfriend?"

Gil couldn't help smirking. "What does it look like?" And while they were still gaping at him, he went inside.

As it turned out, he and Agatha did have the same lunch period. She'd brought her lunch, so she saved him a seat while he went through the line, and they spent a pleasant fifty minutes catching up on all the lighter news since their last letters to each other. And when he found her after school, she grabbed his hand without prompting and held it until he opened the car door for her.

"So, um," he said once he'd gotten in the car himself. "Are we... I mean, will you... I mean... uh... d-do you have plans for next Saturday?"

Her eyes sparkled in amusement. "I don't have plans, no."

"Would you... maybe... want to go to Lincoln and... I mean, there's nothing good in the theaters, but... maybe go to a museum?"

Her smile grew. "Could we be back by 5? The church is having a Valentine's banquet—steak for two."

He blinked. "I... thought you said you didn't have plans."

She took his hand, looked him in the eye, and said, "I didn't."

"Oh. Um." He floundered a moment; he didn't have a class ring to offer. Then he remembered the ring on his left thumb, one of a pair Dean had scavenged from a dumpster several states ago. They'd never held any special significance to either friend, since they'd probably belonged to a divorcing couple; Dean had only thought they might be worth pawning in a pinch. Now, though, Gil slid his off and offered it to Agatha, eyebrows raised in question.

She bit her lip, took off the necklace she was wearing, and held out one end of the chain for him to slip the ring over. He did so and then took both ends so he could fasten it back around her neck.

"So?" she asked about the time he got the clasp fastened again.

He started to pull back but stopped and caressed her cheek instead. "Steak sounds great."

"Museum of American Speed?"

He grinned. "I love you."

She leaned over and kissed him again. Before he could kiss her back, though, she said "Oh!" and sat back. "Just remembered something I wanted to ask you about. Your scholarship."

"What about it?" he asked and started the car.

"You said it's part National Merit and part from Boeing?"

"Yeah, some sort of corporate sponsorship." He paused long enough to back out safely. "When I called Friday to confirm my attendance, the guy I talked to said it's for promising Aero/Astro candidates. Apparently Boeing likes my application essays; they'll give me a housing and textbook stipend and pay tuition and fees for my fifth year, and in return they get first right of refusal on anything I patent as a student, and if they like me enough, they'll hire me right after graduation."

"Wow. That sounds great."

"Yeah."

"Almost too good to be true."

They had just reached the stop sign, so it was safe for him to look at her in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I looked on Stanford's website. Their admissions page says there's no financial aid available for coterm fifth-years."

Frowning, he turned onto the road. "Maybe that just means federal."

"Maybe."

"You think it's a scam?"

"No, but it is odd."

"Mm. Yeah." Was something trying to keep Gil away from the Winchesters?

She waited a moment before asking, "Is something wrong with Uncle John?"

He snorted. "No, he's just being a neglectful, pig-headed idiot. As usual."

"Why? What happened?"

"Didn't leave enough money, missed our birthday, came back and yelled at Dean for wanting to go to college, and then ran off on some stupid ghoul hunt without even telling Dean goodbye. Dean was so messed up over it, he was drunk when Sammy and I got home."

"Oh, Gil."

"I tried, Agatha. I tried everything to get them to come with me. But Sammy wouldn't leave Dean, and Dean said he couldn't disappoint John again."

She sighed and rubbed his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"Thanks." They got to the light just as it turned red, which gave him the chance to turn to her with a slight smile. "At least I can tell him I finally asked you out."

"Oh?"

"He said if I didn't, he'd do it for me."

She laughed, and his heart eased a lot more than it should have.

Life somehow fell into a much easier routine for Gil after that, even with things still unsettled at the Roadhouse. Sundays and Wednesday nights, he went to the Missouri Synod Lutheran church with the Clays, and Aunt Judy insisted that he come over for supper at least one other night every week; he usually did so on Thursdays after Robotics Club, which he joined at Agatha's invitation. One of their first joint projects was a fleet of cleaning robots that they presented to Mrs. Harvelle, which finally got Ash to drop his outlaw redneck front and help Gil with the trickier parts of his homework in Calculus and Physics. And while Gil inadvertently made a few enemies among his fellow Honors students when it came out that he'd bumped the valedictorian out of the top spot, some of the other senior guys would at least pick him in the first couple of rounds for their teams during gym.

He didn't have time to go out for varsity sports, though. And that was just as well, because some of the hard-core jocks, especially a freshman by the name of Cody Senear, hated him on sight—and the feeling was entirely mutual.

Dad was mostly on radio silence for the first three weeks, although he did call once a week to touch base. After he'd finished his side job, whatever it was, he joined the other hunters in Wyoming. But Gil didn't see him again until the Friday after Valentine's Day. Gil was teaching Jo some pool tricks Ash didn't know when he looked up to see Dad, his face sporting recent bruises and scabbed-over cuts, limping through the door.

Gil dropped his cue in shock. He'd never seen Dad in this kind of state. When Gil was little, Dad had always seemed to be ten feet tall and as invulnerable as Superman. After they'd met the Winchesters, that impression... hadn't changed, exactly, but the more supernatural creatures Dad had fought, the more frequently he came home with injuries. They were usually minor, though—a bandaged claw mark here, a fading bite mark there, no worse than Gil got once in a while when hunting with Dean and Sammy, and certainly never as bad as John sometimes came home with. Dad had never had a limp before.

Jo gasped. "Mr. Wulfenbach! Are you all right?!"

"Hi, Joanna," Dad replied, smiling sadly.

"Do you need help?"

"First aid kit, maybe. And then would you fetch your mother?"

"Yes, sir," she answered and ran off behind the bar.

Gil, for his part, ran to Dad's side. "Dad, what happened?"

"It went bad," Dad said quietly and let Gil help him to a bar stool.

"Here, let me—"

"No, Gil. Not yet. Just bring me some coffee."

"Yes, sir. Food, too?"

Dad considered, then nodded. "Thanks."

Gil nodded back and rushed into the kitchen, which was occupied. "Oh! Mrs. Harvelle?"

Mrs. Harvelle turned away from the stove with a smile. "Really, Gil, how many times do I have to tell you? It's Ellen."

"Sorry."

"That's all right. What's up?"

"My dad just came in. He wants to talk to you."

"Oh! Okay, thanks." She wiped her hands on the towel hanging on the oven door. "Stew's about ready, if you want to take him some."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you."

She left, and he went to the cabinet for a bowl and a mug. While he filled each, as he had done off and on since he was about sixteen, he murmured words he neither fully understood nor knew how he knew and felt some sort of power flow out of him and into the food and drink. He didn't know why, but whenever he did this, Dad seemed to heal a lot faster.

The process took long enough that he missed almost all of Dad's conversation with Ellen. When he came back into the main room, however, Jo was crying into Ellen's shoulder, and Dad was saying, "I'm so sorry, Ellen."

Ellen drew a ragged breath. "Thank you, Klaus. You're welcome to stay, but... I... think I'd better close the bar for tonight."

Dad nodded. "I need to head on after I eat. Thank you, though."

"All right. Come on, Joanna Beth." Ellen turned and steered Jo into the back.

Gil set Dad's food and silverware in front of him. "Dad?"

Dad shook his head. "Not now, son. I'll tell you after supper."

"Okay." Gil went back to the kitchen for his own food and joined Dad at the bar, and they ate in silence. Then he put his hand on Dad's wrist and sent more power into him, and most of the bruises faded.

"That's enough," Dad interrupted gently before Gil could heal him all the way.

"But Dad—"

"That's enough, son. Thank you. I'm going back to Wyoming; I don't want to risk too many questions."

Gil sighed and stopped. "Yes, sir."

Dad smiled a little and got up, limping less as he walked back to the door.

Gil bit his lip and followed. "Dad, what happened?"

"It went bad, Gil," Dad replied quietly. "We had twenty hunters, expecting to take on fifty ghouls. Caleb tried, but he couldn't get anyone else. That was bad enough in itself. But Caleb's information was wrong—there were more like a hundred. And they were desperate. Bill Harvelle was platooning with John and me, but somehow he got separated from us. When we found him... they were literally eating him alive."

Gil gasped.

"John and I killed the ghouls, but it was too late for Bill. He bled out before we could even get him to the truck."

"Oh, man."

"That's why I have to get back to Cheyenne. John's on a bender. I think... I think part of it's remembering what happened to me in 'Nam."

Gil very carefully didn't say what he thought of John. "When will you be back?"

"I don't know. Next week, I hope."

"Okay. Be careful, Dad."

"I will." Dad got in his truck, smiled sadly at Gil, and then glanced down at his hands. Frowning slightly, he started the engine and rolled down his window. "Where's your ring?"

"I gave it to Agatha."

"You what?"

"I gave it to Agatha. We're going out." When Dad stared, Gil protested, "Dad, she's not—"

Dad sighed and put a hand on Gil's shoulder. "I know. She's her father's daughter, and the Clays are raising her well. But don't forget that she's Lucrezia's daughter, too. Don't trust her completely, son." Then he squeezed Gil's shoulder, rolled up his window, and drove off.

Nuts to you, old man, Gil thought after him, fists clenching at his sides. I trust Agatha with my life.

And though he didn't know it, his eyes flashed green.