If you'd have asked Dean Winchester where he'd end up after a lifetime of Hunting, he would have promptly replied: "Dead." Beyond that, before he actually went, he might have added, "Hell," but alive or dead he was going to avoid that at all costs. Been there, done that, had the scars to prove it.

He never could imagine himself working a real job, but he was doing just that. He didn't have to, Lisa had never asked that he support them, or even simply pay for his own keep, but Dean needed work to do, so he got a job.

Lisa was the primary bread-winner in the household. She'd built upon her knowledge of Yoga and fitness and opened her own business – "Body by Braden." She and her handful of employees offered classes in both traditional and non-traditional fitness programs and sold a number of different products from massage oils to vitamins, all organic. Dean mocked her for it, until he saw the dollar figures she was pulling. Business was booming, even in a craptastic economy.

Ben had been overjoyed when Dean moved in, for more than one reason of course, but primarily because he wouldn't have to have a babysitter. Lisa often worked into the evening and Ben was too young to leave on his own. Dean got a job days working for a local garage as a mechanic. He was in to work early, and thus home early, so it was Dean who picked Ben up after school and made the family dinner on the nights Lisa worked late.

After a year, life had settled into a new routine, and Dean accepted it, but he wondered how long it would be before he stopped looking over his shoulder? Or when he stopped being afraid that one day he'd come home to find Lisa and Ben gone - or worse - dead. What had happened at the fair made Dean jumpier than usual. He honestly expected to turn a corner and find a demon standing there waiting for him. He broke out in a cold sweat if Ben were just a few minutes late meeting him after school, or if Lisa didn't call to let them know she was on her way home. He paced back and forth if she were delayed.

Summer quickly gave way to Fall. Ben went back to school. Dean pulled the tarp off the Impala and made sure all his weapons were in working order. He double checked the hex bags he'd placed at all four corners of the house and the Devil's Traps he'd drawn beneath every rug. The pantry was stocked with salt and sage. He stashed iron bars in all the closets. Dean watched and waited, but no demons, nor angels, ever came looking for him.

He couldn't understand it. Had it been years earlier, Dean might have been psyched by the fact the demons seemed to fear him. It might have stoked his ego. Now it only worried him. Why weren't they coming after him? They had his scent. Hell, they had his license plate number. It wouldn't be that difficult to trace him, hex bags or no hex bags. Hunters were always on the move. Dean had been stationary for over a year.

Dean called Bobby, and Bobby refused to talk to him about it.

"Leave it alone, Dean!" he said, and the next time Dean called, Bobby hung up on him.

On Halloween, Dean argued with Lisa about permitting Ben to go out trick-or-treating. Ultimately the two of them reached a compromise, allowing Ben to go providing they both went with him. Ben was thrilled with the idea. He insisted they dress up. Dean refused until he realized dressing up would allow him to carry weapons. Lisa found pirate costumes. Dean went out armed with the Colt, Ruby's knife, and a flask full of holy water. He did an impression of Captain Jack Sparrow that had the neighbors howling with laughter, but all the while he kept a close eye on Lisa and Ben. Nothing happened. Lisa chided him for jumping at shadows and paraphrased Bobby.

"They're obviously done with you, Dean. Just leave it alone." They were lying in bed. Lisa wriggled closer, resting her head on his shoulder. She held him tight and kissed him. "Everything is going to be okay, now. You just need to have a little faith."

"In what?" he asked softly, bitterly. "God? The angels?"

"Sam," she whispered.

Later, when she'd fallen asleep, Dean went downstairs to the garage and pulled the tarp back from the Impala's door. He rummaged through her glove compartment until he found one of his old phones. The account was still active, he'd always kept several going, alternating them regularly to keep enemies at bay. The phone still worked, but the battery had run down. When he went back to bed he left it plugged into an outlet in the den.

Two days after that, on the night of November second, Dean sat in the den holding the phone in his hand. For a solid hour he stared at it, and then, overwhelmed with grief and loneliness, he flipped it open and dialed in to his voicemail. The first messages he heard brought on a bittersweet smile.

Ellen: "Hey Dean. Stop by next time you boys roll through Nebraska, we got a new case of that German dark ale you got such a kick out of and….what ? What do you want Josephine? (There was a pause, and the indistinct sound of Jo's voice in the background.) Jo says you owe her fifty bucks. Dammit, Dean. I told you to stop playing poker with her!"

Ash (cryptically): "Minnesota."

Ash (again): "Jo says you better give her that fifty you owe her or she's going to go postal on your ass."

Ash: (third time) "Sorry. She threatened me."

Jo: "I'm serious, Winchester. I have a gun and I know how to use it."

Dean tightened his grip on the phone and closed his eyes, his heart aching as he anticipated the voice he'd hear next. There were nine in total, all of them along a similar vein, messages left from calls made during various jobs over the course of more than one year. The first and oldest, like those that came before it, made him smile through the tears.

Sam: "Dean, where the hell are you? I just stopped in the Roadhouse and Jo is on the rag or something. (Jo's voice, clearly, in the background: "I heard that!") She practically assaulted me. Ash's got the location of the old Barker cemetery pinned down and I've found an incantation that might work. Get your ass out of bed and get down here. And by the way, now you owe me fifty bucks."

Dean listened to all nine, and when he got to the last, a very abrupt message that consisted of nothing but Sam saying, "Shit!" He started over again.

And then again,

And again,

Listening until dawn, when the phone's battery finally lost its charge.

Friday night was movie night. This particular Friday was a good night to curl up on the sofa and watch a movie too. It was January and colder than a witch's teat outside (Dean had always meant to ask a witch about that saying, except that all his encounters with witches involved keeping them from killing him, not casual conversations about their breasts.) It had started snowing early in the day. Ben's school was cancelled. Lisa cancelled all classes at Body by Braden and took the day off. The three of them bundled up and headed out for some sledding. At one point during their outing, Lisa referred to Dean as Han Solo, prompting Ben to ask, "Who's that?"

Dean looked from Lisa, to Ben, and back to Lisa. "You've got to be kidding me?"

The Star Wars trilogy was immediately declared the choice for movie night.

"And it's the original three, not that crap that came later," Dean announced. "That stuff with the Rastafarian gecko."

Lisa laughed, "Who? Jar Jar? I kinda liked him."

"Blasphemy!"

Halfway through The Empire Strikes Back, Lisa got up to make more popcorn. A moment later she came back into the living room holding Dean's cell. "Dean. Phone."

He scowled. Nobody he knew that had the number to this new phone would call him so late at night; that is, nobody but one person. He didn't recognized the number, but if it was who Dean thought it was, the call was important. He immediately got up and retreated to the den. His hunch had been right. The caller was Bobby.

"You remember," Bobby began without preamble, as if he hadn't stopped talking to Dean several months earlier. "A couple of sorry characters named Walt and Roy?"

"I hope you're calling to tell me they're dead."

There was a pause. "I'll take that as a yes, and yeah, they're dead. What's it to you?"

"I never followed through on a little payback I owed them. Remember me telling you about me and Sam's little trip to Heaven and back?"

"Walt and Roy?"

"Yeah, the bastards blew a hole in Sammy's chest big enough to drive a truck through, and then turned on me." Dean sat down on the corner of Lisa's desk. "I never got the time to hunt them down and stuff a little C-4 up their asses."

"They shot you?"

"Shotgun. Point blank."

"You near a computer?"

Dean rounded the desk and sat down in Lisa's chair. "Yeah, why?"

"Still have access to your old account?"

"Yeah, and again, why?"

"I wanna show you something. "

A minute later Dean was looking at the photograph Bobby had emailed to him. It was a crime scene photo, and could have been a staged version of what had happened to the Winchesters during their encounter with Walt and Roy. It was a motel room with two double beds, beds upon which Walt and his partner Roy had been killed. Both men lay on their backs, their chests bloody ruins from the blast of a shotgun at close range.

"This isn't why you called," Dean said quietly.

"No. it wasn't. There was a witness, saw a man go into that room right before she heard gunshots. Never saw anyone come back out." Bobby hesitated before continuing. "Witness said he was young, and tall, real tall, broad shouldered, longish brown hair. "

Dean's fingers curled more tightly around the phone. The description could have fit any number of people, but if it were any number of people in Bobby's mind, Bobby wouldn't have called. "You think…you think Sam did this?"

"Honestly, I don't know what to think. Sounds like Sam. He'd have a bone to pick with these two same as you, and…."

"And what?"

Bobby's voice roughened. "They were on a case, tailing a pair of demon possessed cousins from Biloxi." He cleared his throat. "These two demons were sniffing around Stull Cemetery – that's how I got involved. I've been keepin' an eye on the place. By the time I got there all I found was a pair of rotting meat suits and Roy and Walt snuffed out in a motel in Lawrence."

His mouth dry, Dean closed his eyes. Sweat beaded up on his forehead. He could hear, and feel, his heart rate increase. "The door…."

"Nobody got in or out, if that's what you're thinkin'. I'da seen something. I've also talked to Castiel. He's got a crew working 24/7 putting seals back in place."

"Bobby, what the hell?"

"I don't know. Someone snuffed those demons – it wasn't Roy and Walt either."

"And you're sure the demons were killed, not exorcised, and they didn't smoke out?"

"I'm sure. Those demons were killed, not just their meat suits. Their throats were slashed wide open. Coroner didn't know what to make of it, considering everything else pointed to them dyin' months ago from blunt force trauma to the head."

Dean heard the hesitation in Bobby's voice. It was obvious the old man had more, but was reluctant to tell him. It was something Dean didn't want to hear. "What is it? What aren't you telling me?"

"Dean," Bobby muttered.

"What?"

There was another pause before Bobby continued. "Nothing got out of that trap, Dean. Nothing could. But are we sure about what went in?"

Dean closed his eyes again, rubbing at his temples. A headache was beginning behind his eyes. Maybe it was memory toying with him, creating psychosomatic pain where there was none. He remembered quite clearly the agony of his shattered face, but it had been more than overshadowed by the ache in his chest when he saw Sam throw himself through the door to oblivion. In reality there had been no sound when the portal closed, just the cessation of it, but in Dean's mind's eye he could still hear the reverberating peal that had echoed through his head. He likened it to the sound of a tomb slamming shut – Sam's tomb.

"Yes," he said hoarsely. "I was there, Bobby. Sam went in, and he dragged Adam – Michael – with him. Then the door closed. Nothing came out then either. Sam didn't kill Roy and Walt, and he didn't kill those demons."

Bobby cleared his throat. "I believe you, but…." He paused yet again, and just as Dean thought he would have to prompt him to continue, Bobby said, "Those demons….their throats weren't just cut, they were torn open. And Dean….you should know….they were drained of blood."

Dean's eyes popped open. He sat up straight in the chair. "What?" He stood up. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. Saw it myself and read the coroner's report. Those demons didn't just bleed out somewhere else, they were sucked dry."

"Are you still in Lawrence?"

"No. Kansas City."

"Stay there. I'm on my way."

When he hung up, Dean discovered his hands were shaking. He also discovered Lisa standing in the doorway. Their eyes met for a long moment, neither one of them speaking, until she broke the silence.

"Ben's asleep," she said softly. "We lost him somewhere in Cloud City."

"We can pick it up again later." Communication was never Dean's strongpoint, even when the situation wasn't as awkward. "I have to check this out."

"I know you do."

"Lisa, you don't understand…"

"Yes, Dean, I do." Her expression wasn't one of anger, or sadness, or even disappointment. It was one of resignation. "I understand you a lot better than you understand yourself. I always knew something would pull you back."

"It's Sam, I…."

She laughed slightly, shaking her head. "And I always knew it would be Sam." Their eyes met. "Go, Dean."

"Lise…" He went to her, brushing his fingertips against her cheek. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Just do me a favor though."

"Anything."

"The weather is bad, take the Jeep. Don't drag that old car out in this."

Dean nodded. He moved in closer, but she stiffened and turned her head away from him. He kissed her anyway. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Sure."

He moved past her into the hallway, his mind automatically turning toward the job, making note of what items he might need to get out of the Impala, calculating the quickest, best route to Kansas City. He didn't hear Lisa call his name the first time. It was the second time that caught his attention.

"Dean."

"Yeah?"

"Be careful." She took a deep breath. "I'll be honest. I don't want you to go. I'm afraid you might not come back, and I probably should be upset but…." A sad smile crossed her lips. "I'm not going to close the door. If it takes two months, or two years, I'll still be here."

Dean paused only a second before rushing back to embrace her. This time she kissed back.