Will opened his eyes to his dark bedroom. He'd woken up suddenly, and when he exhaled he could see his breath.

It wasn't Thursday, but sure enough when he looked outside, he saw the man standing out on the sidewalk, facing Will's window.

He got up and pulled on jeans and a t-shirt, grabbing his house key on his way out the front door.

The man stood on the same spot, as though waiting for him. Will approached him cautiously.

"I didn't know ghosts could get dressed," he commented, referring to the fact that the man wore work shirts under a heavy leather coat as opposed to walking around shirtless.

The man stood in silence, still staring at Will's bedroom window, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his well-worn jacket.

"You know," Will commented. "For a guy who's not dead, and not into little boys, you seem to spend an awful lot of time spying on me while I sleep."

"My willpower breaks down when I get smashed," the man finally said.

"What?" Will asked, unable to discern any meaning from the man's words.

"It's a college town. Lots of the bars have drinks specials on Thursday nights because the liberal arts students usually don't have classes on Fridays. They throw me out at two in the morning and I pause here on my walk home. It's become an extremely unhealthy habit, but I have learned one thing from it."

"What?" Will prompted after a moment, and the man turned to look down at him.

"I might not be crazy after all," he replied matter-of-factly.

Will didn't ask him to explain, he simply waited, wondering if the man would explain when he was ready. When no more words passed between them after a long moment, he again asked the question that had nagged at him for the past two days, ever since he'd broken into the man's house.

"What's your name?" he asked.

The man dropped his head, looking at the ground and then up at the sky. "Ah, fuck," he said. "I shouldn't tell you, kid. I really shouldn't. I should pack my shit, get in my car, and start driving. I was all ready to get out of this town, and then you had to break into my house and prove I'm only mostly coo-coo for cocoa puffs."

"Name," Will pressed stubbornly, sensing he was close to obtaining the information he sought.

"Your mother would kill me with her bare hands if she found out I tracked you down."

"Name," Will demanded again, his voice becoming icy as fear began to dredge up inside him. Anyone from his mother's past had to be bad news.

The man sighed, his last defense apparently faltering. "Dean," he said at last. "Dean Winchester. In the flesh. For the moment, anyway."

"You're a hunter."

"I was once."

"You know my mom from the Roadhouse."

"Originally, yes. My father hunted with your grandfather, and ended up getting him killed. That's who you're named after, isn't it, Will? Jo's father—Bill Harvelle."

Will nodded sullenly. "Yeah, I'm named after him. That doesn't explain what you're doing here, though. If you're alive, which in my mind is still not a certainty, and you're not a hunter anymore—what're you doing?"

Dean sighed heavily, reaching up to scratch at his short hair. "I ask myself that same question every day. I've spent the majority of the past ten years either drunk or hung-over, running from the Feds, scraping by for money, and trying to convince sorority girls I'm really only twenty-eight. I retired from hunting five years ago, but then I got a call a few months ago, and it was too big to pass up."

"Here?" Will asked. "In this town?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, here. All the signs were cropping up, the ducks were falling into a row, and then I got here and everything quit. It's like he knows I'm here."

"Who?" Will asked suspiciously. "Who knows you're here?"

Dean took a sharp breath through his nose, wiping at his face, his eyes flicking back and forth at the darkness surrounding him—as though looking for some unseen enemy. "You still wanna see a ghost?" he asked, not giving Will time to respond before walking off down the street.

For a moment Will thought about returning to his house, going back to bed—but the offer of finally seeing something supernatural piqued his interest, and he followed after Dean, jogging to catch up with the tall man.

"There she is," Dean said softly, waking Will from his light doze.

Will sat up in the passenger seat of Dean's car, wiping at his tired eyes with the back of his arm and leaning forward to look out the windshield.

A woman came into view. Slowly and gracefully she crossed the cemetery, pausing in front of a headstone and kneeling down before it.

"Heard rumors about her the first week I was in town," Dean said, his vigilant gaze never leaving the woman's form. "She's on the lunar cycle. Goes and visits her husband's grave when the moon is at three-quarters. Same thing every month. Walks over, sits for a minute, and then disappears."

Will watched, suddenly feeling a little sad. "Why haven't you put her to rest?" he asked, turning to look at the ex-hunter sitting beside him.

Dean half shrugged. "She's been dead fifty years and hasn't gone crazy and started hurting people yet. I figured I'd let her do what she's gotta do. Some spirits have unfinished business, and sometimes they need the chance to finish it, no matter how long it takes."

Will turned to look at the woman again, only to discover she'd already disappeared. "Whoa, she's gone," he said, looking around the make sure she hadn't just moved away.

"She'll be back tomorrow night, and the night after," Dean said, reaching forward to crank over the beast of an engine he had in his old car. "Show's over, kid. Probably time to get you home before you fall asleep on me."

Will reluctantly got out of the car after Dean pulled up in front of his house, dropping him off. He closed the passenger side door behind him, and turned around to lean against it, talking through the open window. "Hey, Dean—you're not leaving town, are you?" he asked, shoving his unruly bangs out of his eyes so he could look at the hunter, and try to guess at his mood.

Will couldn't remember ever meeting anyone in his life who kept things as close to the vest as this Winchester guy. Will suspected Dean was a well schooled con-artist, and a liar when necessary—but in spite of knowing that, something about the guy seemed implicitly trustworthy.

"I'll be around—for a while," Dean said. He reached into his coat, retrieving something from an inside pocket over his heart. "Here, this is for you," he said, handing over a small parcel that was heavy for its size.

Will weighed the object in his palm, looking confused. "What is it?" he asked.

"Protection," Dean replied. "Against evil, not against STDs. You want a ride on the town bike, you're on your own, kid," he deadpanned.

Will smirked, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, like that'll ever happen. If you had any idea how my mom and grandma hover over me..."

Dean smiled back, shaking his head. "Don't knock it, boy. It only sucks to have a mother until you don't have one anymore. Believe you me."

Will smiled. "Yeah, maybe. See ya, Dean," he said, taking a step back from the car and watching it slowly roll away.

"See ya, kid," he replied, reaching over to put the car in gear and letting out the clutch.

When the black Impala was well out of sight, Will untied the small bag, finding the lacing used to secure it was actually a necklace with a charm on it, and inside the bag itself was the knife he'd thought about stealing from Dean's house. Will took it out of its sheath and stared in awe at the engraved 'S' shining bright on the blade in the three-quarters moonlight.