DISCLAIMER: Just for once, I'd like to put a 'claimer' at the top of a chapter instead…but alas, I'd be lying. I don't own anything…not even the song excerpt!

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Bless the Broken Road

PREVIOUSLY: He needed to find answers. And two sons were one too many children to be dragging along on that likely long and arduous quest. It would be for the better.

For all three of them.

Chapter 2

"I set out on a narrow way, many years ago
Hoping I would find true love along the broken road
But I got lost a time or two
Wiped my brow and kept pushing through
I couldn't see how every sign pointed straight to you"

Lyrics from "Bless the Broken Road" by Rascal Flatts

---Present day, Iowa, early April, 2009---

"Dean! Down!"

An arrow whizzed just over top of dark blond spikes to plow into the chest of a buxom young redhead, instantly felling her at the feet of a man only a few years older than her. Shaking off the close call, he got to his feet and grinned cockily down at her, not even flinching when she bared her razor sharp fangs in threat and rage. "That arrow was tipped with dead man's blood, babe…works on you bloodsuckers every time, eh?" The vampire hissed in response, and the young man laughed as pulled his machete from its sheath. "Ya know, you'd be smokin' hot if it weren't for that ice-cold skin, but unfortunately for you?" He winked, and then swung the weapon down, severing her beautiful head from her shapely body with one blow. "I don't do undead chicks…in any sort of way."

Wiping the blade on her skin-tight pink halter top, the young man shot a smug smirk over to his older partner, a tall African-American with a crossbow in his hand and his own beheaded vampire at his feet. "Damn, would ya look at that rack," he quipped with a mock-wistful glance at the headless corpse. "What a waste."

The older man smiled, but not in response to the lewd comment. "You did great, Dean. You're learning faster than I could've ever hoped to teach you."

"What's there to learn," his young companion shrugged nonchalantly. "It's not human…it doesn't get to live."

"Correct," came the satisfied response. "And much improved from last time, when you still insisted on putting 'it's not nice' in between the two. Doesn't matter if it's nice or not…a monster's a monster. They all go bad…sooner or later."

"Yeah, yeah, heard it all before. You—"

"Your dad would've been proud, kiddo."

And at this, thirty year-old Dean Winchester shut his mouth, a wistful look passing across his handsome face. Dad…miss ya.

The loss of John Winchester had been sudden and unexpected – an "I'm proud of you, son" whispered to Dean as the younger man lay at death's door, an admonishment from a nurse to the father to return to his hospital bed, the wail of John's cardiac monitor, the code blue, the failed revival attempts…and Dean's instant miraculous healing. It hadn't taken Dean long to find out, however, that what seemed to have been Heaven-sent had been Hell-sent instead. Courtesy of one Yellow-Eyed Demon named Azazel…the very demon responsible for everything. For Mary Winchester burning on the ceiling…for his father's obsession with hunting the supernatural…for putting them in the hospital in the first place via one of his black-eyed henchmen behind the wheel of a semi…

And the very demon Dean had killed in a Wyoming cemetery months later with a bullet from a special gun to the skull. With relish.

He had done it for his parents…both of them. For his long-dead mother and his recently passed father, who, to save Dean from the terminal injuries sustained during the collision with the semi, had made a deal with Azazel – his soul and the special gun, the Colt, for his son's life. The mighty John Winchester had spent those months burning in Hell for Dean, and had only gotten free from the ultimate hot spot thanks to Azazel's opening of the Devil's Gate. It had been the demon's crowning achievement…but it had also been his last. Dean had made damn sure of that, with the help of his father's erstwhile mentor, Bobby Singer, and his current colleague…the formidable Gordon Walker.

His first meeting with the dark-skinned hunter had been quite the experience. Still reeling from fresh loss of his father, Dean had been throwing himself into hunts with gusto, despite Bobby Singer's protests as he stayed at the older man's auto salvage yard in South Dakota. One of those hunts had taken place in Red Lodge, Montana, where several decapitations had turned out to be Gordon's work, and the so-called victims had actually been the monsters instead – vampires. Dean had eagerly teamed up with Gordon after hearing of the older hunter's prowess with the bloodsuckers, and together they had taken out an entire nest, the leader of which had had the gall to claim they deserved to be spared. That she and her clan only drank the blood of cattle rather than people.

He and Gordon had swiftly silenced that ridiculousness, though…and had been – for the most part – chummy ever since.

The only difference was that now, the work of their partnership definitely went beyond Fangs.

Because John Winchester unfortunately hadn't been the only one to escape The Pit through its open gate. Along with his release had come that of scores of demons, many of which were wreaking havoc on the world even as he and Gordon gathered the vampires' remains into one big heap for a standard preventative salt and burn job. He and Gordon had sent several demons back to their former prison since that fateful night in Wyoming, but an untold number remained…so they most definitely still had work to do.

"So…do the honors?"

Dean smirked at Gordon's offer as he extracted a matchbook from his leather coat – a coat that had belonged to his father. "With pleasure."

The headless corpses and the severed heads were ablaze within mere minutes, and the pair of hunters stood by until they deemed the remnants destroyed enough to leave. The police would turn the area into a crime scene no doubt, would go and blame it on some kind of serial murderer-slash-arsonist, as they had in Montana over a year ago. Then the locals would become paranoid for a little while, start locking their doors extra tight at night, stop going out alone, etcetera and so on…before the fear would finally die down. The process was all the same everywhere they went…

But at least those people would still be alive to go through it…thanks to the so-called killers, unbeknownst to them. Outsider-gratitude was a rare thing, but such was the life of a hunter of the supernatural. It didn't bother Dean…he knew how important what he and other hunters did was, even if everyone else didn't.

And more importantly than that…he wanted nothing more than to follow in his father's footsteps. Which, according to both mentors in his life, he was apparently doing a pretty good job of so far…with their help. And speaking of the other guy…

"Hey, man," Dean spoke up as he walked in step beside Gordon after they had cleaned up as best as they could. "Was thinkin' about headin' on to Bobby's tonight, seein' as how I've got nothin' else lined up on my agenda…take a little breather. How 'bout you?"

"No such thing as a breather for me, kid," Gordon replied. "Got a rather big hunt on the horizon up in Vermont…there's a nest of Wendigoes to take down there."

"That so…well damn if that doesn't bring back memories."

"You and your daddy faced one before, eh?"

Dean nodded proudly. "Yep…torched the sucker too, saved some kids who were camping…a good hunt's work. Need any help with yours?"

"Nah," the older man immediately declined. "Got lots of old buddies comin' with me on this one, they've been planning and lookin' forward to it for a while now. Don't want you feelin' like a tenth wheel…you go on and sit this one out."

"You sure?"

"Sure as a Fang needs to die, kid. But, you be sure and be ready, 'cause when I come back? I've got a real doozy of a hunt lined up for us…somethin' we haven't run across in a good while. There was a survivor."

"A survivor," Dean mused disinterestedly. "A survivor of what…we talkin' plane crash, bombing, reality TV show…women who've seen you in the buff…what?"

The dark-skinned man didn't even crack a smile. "None of the above, Deano…I'm talkin' the big battle, the psychic kid showdown in Cold Oak."

Dean stopped dead in his tracks at the statement. "Come again?"

It was quite the attention grabber…the hunter remembered the story well. The account of young twenty-something men and women who had special abilities – ranging from telekinesis and psychic visions, to mind control and super-strength – was a harrowing one. They had first all mysteriously disappeared at the same time and then wound up fighting a last-man-standing battle in a South Dakota ghost town, orchestrated by none other than Azazel. It was the Yellow-Eyed Demon's way of weeding out the inferior to leave him with the ultimate cream of the crop for the future leader of his demonic army – a literal kill or be killed competition that had culminated in the 'champion', Jake Talley, opening the Devil's Gate with the Colt as the key…crossing the iron lines of Samuel Colt's railroad devil's trap that Azazel himself couldn't cross. And the kid had performed the task without compunction, as he was groomed to do…but he had paid for it with his life. At Dean's hands. Not that the young hunter had any regrets about that…

The sound of his companion's voice snapped the Winchester out of his ruminations and back to the present.

"You heard me right," Gordon confirmed. "Got loads of info on 'im through some of my old hunting partners. Wait till you check it all out…bowled me over, that's for sure."

"Damn…I thought they were all dead." Dean called on his memory again as they resumed walking. "They were offin' themselves and each other left and right, or were offed by other hunters. I know you got that Scott kid in Indiana before Cold Oak even happened…and then there was that Max Miller nutcase who bit the bullet before any of us could get to him… And I ganked the so-called winner in Wyoming, that Jake jerk…you mean to tell me he wasn't the winner?"

The older man shook his head. "See for yourself whenever you're able to get to a computer; I sent the info to your account, and Singer's too, whether he likes it or not…but yeah, all signs are pointin' to there havin' been a real wild card out there, one that somehow escaped the rest of his kind and managed to fly under the hunters' radar for a little while."

Dean shook his head. "Damn shame…was hopin' we were done with those freaks. Which one gave us the slip?"

"The boy with the future death visions…Sam Murphy."

"Uh-huh…the only one whose body your hunting buddies never found. Ah, well," the Winchester shrugged, "better than ol' Simon says go jump off a cliff or Little Miss Heart-stopper, don't ya think? Should be easy enough to take out…"

Gordon snorted. "Not so fast, boy. According to the research I read, it looks like the Murphy kid's had a major upgrade in his abilities since then. I mean, death already followed this boy everywhere he went, but now? He's in the runnin' to be the Grim Reaper's heir, I'd say." The hunter scratched his chin in thought. "Or maybe more like Satan's heir, that is. The facts will speak for themselves to ya…but in short, everywhere he goes, demonic omens pop up like crazy. Foster mother, holy man who took him in as a kid, college girlfriend…all barbecued while he wasn't even singed."

"Wow," Dean mumbled as he mulled over the basic information, already anxious to see it for himself. "Not good karma."

"Not at all," Gordon agreed. "The sooner this kid dies the better. But I've done some searchin', and it appears as though he's lying low for now. And as much as I want him bleedin' at our feet, I can't put my duty on hold for him forever, so…he can wait till we get some sign of him. When I get back from Vermont though," the older hunter grinned coldly as his car finally came into sight, "it's open season on demonic freaks."

"Sounds good…lookin' forward to it," Dean smirked back as they both opened the doors of their respective vehicles after friendly goodbye claps on the back. "Good luck with the Wendigoes, man…give one of 'em a toast for me. And call me when you're done so we can get down to business with our psychic kid."

"Will do on both counts. You take it easy till then," Gordon said with a salute. "Later, Winchester."

"Till next time, Walker," Dean echoed, climbing behind the wheel of his 1967 Chevy Impala with a final wave, his sights now set on Bobby Singer's salvage yard in South Dakota, ready for a period of rest…

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"Bet ya won't believe what I found out, boy."

Upon arrival, though, it became quickly clear that Dean wasn't going to be getting as much rest as he thought. Bobby, veritable research nut that he was, had apparently stumbled upon something big. And Dean guessed he owed it to the old man to pay attention…even through his yawns. "Lemme guess…you really were born wearing that grubby old hat."

Bobby scoffed, unconsciously reaching up to adjust the ubiquitous dirty trucker's cap on his head. "No, get serious, boy…'cause your and Gordon's new hunt just came outta hibernation, if what I read is on the money."

Dean instantly sat straight up in his chair at the statement. "You mean the psychic kid?"

Bobby nodded before turning back to his computer. "Thought that might get ya goin'…got Gordon's message a few hours before you showed up, and asshole though he is, it all seems to be pretty accurate. So I took the liberty of trackin' down some of this Sam Murphy kid's known aliases…found he apparently just checked out of a motel in Ohio, one day ago."

"Damn," Dean grumbled, snapping his fingers in disappointment as he browsed the screen over Bobby's shoulder. "Just missed him…wonder where he's headed next."

"Dunno," Bobby replied absently. "Thought you were comin' here to take a break, by the way."

"You kiddin' me, Bobby?!" Dean couldn't believe his ears. "We may never get another chance at this freak…I'm callin' Gordon, he's got other hunters with him that can take care of the Wendigo nest…he needs to get here for this."

"I'd rather ya not," the bearded man reprimanded with a frown of distaste, and was unsurprised when Dean's eager countenance abruptly turned defensive.

"And why is that?" Dean shook his head incredulously. "You read the research, Bobby…this kid's been responsible for people dying and frying ever since he could walk! Talk about born to kill…"

"Well…" Bobby reasoned, "quite a few of the kids had a parent or loved one killed in a mysterious fire when they were real young…it was a pattern."

"Yeah, but this kid?" Dean countered, bringing up Gordon's information and pointing to it with fervor, having already read it all earlier in a diner with Wi-Fi. "He's had three people die in fires around him. And then all this recent stuff…demon signs show up when he does, followed by dead bodies. Then he leaves…and the killings stop." The younger hunter looked up at his friend and mentor, a gleam in his emerald eyes. "Bobby…I really think we've hit the big money with this kid. Sounds like one nasty piece of work."

"So, mighty hunter…what's your solution, then?"

"What else?" Dean didn't hesitate with his reply. "We go and stop this Sam Murphy kid…no different than we stopped the Jake one. Look for some demonic omens, pinpoint where they're strongest…then head on out to meet-n-greet."

Uncertainty passed across Bobby's face. "Well…sounds all well an' good plan-wise but there's no guarantee the kid'll be there. Could be just regular old demons."

"Then so what? We'll send the black-eyed bastards back to Hell…trip won't have been a total waste."

"Okay…then what about this kid?"

"Yeah?" Dean's eyes narrowed. "What about him?"

"Dean…" the elder hunter sighed. "I'm gonna level with ya. I've never really liked this psychic kid shit…'cause like it or not, these kids are still human, and we hunters are just gettin' rid of 'em like the common monster or ghost. I mean…maybe if ya talk to him first or—"

"Save your breath and your sympathy, old man," Dean cut him off. "'Cause these kids, like it or not, ARE monsters…they kill people, they've got unnatural powers…sorry but there're no shades of grey to this."

Bobby nodded sarcastically. "Yep, of course…understood. Gordon's got you trained real well, don't he?" He stood up, needing to step away from the increasingly colder young hunter for a while. "Speakin' of the devil…you plannin' on doin' this hunt with Gordon so soon after the vampires?"

"Nope," Dean responded casually. "You don't want me to call him, I won't. Gordon just wants this kid dead ASAP, doesn't matter who does it, and he's busy so…you're up, old man."

"I'm up?"

"Yeah…come on, Bobby…I mean so sue me but I still need backup even if it's not Gordon. A guy to watch my six while I take out the nasty…any of that registerin' with you? Or is your conscience blockin' it out."

It wasn't a question, and the salvage yard owner's hackles rose. "Well, that may be…but at least I've still got one most of the time, like you used to."

Dean flinched slightly at the barb, before settling his features into a mask of composure and indifference. "Hmph…it was overrated anyway. Now can we focus, here? I've got a big-time hit on demonic activity in Missouri…sticks out like a sore thumb. I say we check it out and get ready to kill ourselves a freak."

Bobby could only reluctantly acquiesce. "Whatever you say, boy…you're the boss on this hunt." 'Cause I don't like it…and I don't want to be.

TBC…

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A/N: So there ya go…things are quite different for Dean without Sam in his life. Having hunted with John mostly, and then Bobby after John's death. But unfortunately, Gordon was able to get his hooks into him too during that time…though it remains to be seen just how deep they've penetrated...

Next chapter may provide some insight into that, however, as we'll be meeting Sam right along with Dean and getting some hints of what his life has been like all this time, not only having grown up without his big brother…but having grown up being something other than a Winchester altogether.

Hope to see you back here for that next installment! Thanks to my LLS for the beta and to everyone who read and reviewed the first chapter…keep the hits and the feedback coming! :-)