Alright, people - That's it. Where are my reviews? 60 plus hits and visits to each chapter and not a single bit of feedback. It kills the muse, all. So please hit the button and tell me if you love it or hate it. Thank you.

- Tyler


Sam owned a 2005 Ford Focus. It was a conservative, non-descript vehicle - the kind of car that Sam (largely due to his brother's influence) had always associated with soccer moms or working dads. But the fact of the matter stood that even if Sam cruised the streets in War's red Mustang, Dean still wouldn't have approved - because no car really held a candle to the Impala in his big brother's eyes. Which was fair enough.

Besides, Sam was doing his best to stay out of the limelight, and a shiny classic ride wasn't exactly on board with that particular plan.

Neither was Sam with the notion that the irritatingly mysterious Nate Winters was everything she claimed. Sam hadn't missed the seemingly insignificant tellers from Cas when the angel had scanned Nate's mind, and he was determined to uncover any secrets Castiel might have been retaining. The time for secrets was at an end.

Sam closed the door to his silver Ford and began striding towards the comely wooden house ahead of him, aiming his keypad over his broad shoulder and locking the car as he stepped through the white picket fence gate and grinned despite himself. The fence had been a point of contention between Dean and Lisa - with Dean wanting it done away with entirely, naturally, and Lisa insisting on its practicality - and significance. Her husband's days of roving the country as a lone cavalier were over, and Lisa wanted him to know it.

Sam sighed at the inviting brass door knocker and squared his shoulders bravely. He had never thought it would pan out this way - with Dean being one relatively at ease in a suburban, family lifestyle, and Sam having difficulty choking down Lisa's Sunday roasts despite his faithful efforts at doing so. There were just some experiences that time couldn't undo. Family and the relating commitments and emotions might lessen their effect over time, but time itself would never be able to muster up squat.

Sam was about to knock on the door when it opened. He smiled, unsurprised, as Lisa stood, bright-eyed and beautiful, in the entrance. Her smile was like Christmas Morning, and Sam felt the familiar pang of gratitude for his brother's good fortune.

"Hey! You're fifteen minutes late; everything okay?" Lisa stepped aside to usher Sam inside, the giant man dwarfing her petite, athletic build. That was one thing that got Sam like a knife in the gut every single time. The way her triceps were mounted off of perfectly sculpted shoulders - not too round and not too chiseled. It reminded him of Ruby and the body she had possessed.

It's nice inside this body, Sam. It's soft, and warm.

He shook his head briefly before awkwardly returning the embrace Lisa had engulfed him in.

"Yeah, just...been a long week, you know?"

"Dean told me about Nate." Lisa stepped back and gripped her biceps as she adopted a worried expression, "Any update on where she is?"

Sam could smell the turkey, sizzling its goodness from the dining room.

"Uh, well Cas has been gone for a few hours now, so I think he's tailing her." Sam headed through the drooping arch in the hall door, ducking customarily as he did so. It was strange to actually have a place besides Bobby's Salvage Yard to call home. Not that Sam actually lived in said house - despite Dean's nagging and Lisa's gentle, continuous hints. He did rent a modest apartment not too far from his brother's for the times when there was a lull in his hunting. During such 'vacations', Ben would demand to stay with 'his uncle' for as long as Sam would let him, and shabby motel rooms were something both Dean and Sam never wanted Ben to see the inside of if they could help it.

"Sammy." Dean had tossed a beer in his direction while his thoughts had been far away, but Sam's hunting reflexes still enabled him to catch the glass bottle before it clattered to the ground.

"Getting a little rusty there, kiddo." Dean winked at him while imbibing a generous swig of his Budwieser, and Sam smiled snarkily.

"You pitched it low. Were you, uh, aiming for something there?"

"There's something there?" Dean flashed him a genuinely surprised expression - which suddenly morphed into a horrified grimace at a bubbling hiss erupting from the stove, "Shit! The peas!"

Sam laughed triumphantly as he watched his brother hurry over to the smoking, overflowing pot of green peas and turn off the gas, while fanning at the steam around him.

"Okay - I think I saved'em."

"Benjamin! Dinner!" Lisa yelled up the stairs as she headed back into the kitchen/dining room, only to sniff the air with a grimace, "Is something burning?"

"Absoloutely not! Everything's under control." Dean's attempt at grabbing the pot handle ended with him yanking it back with a hissing curse. Sam smirked widely and took a gulp of his beer, wiping his mouth on his sleeve as he choked on a laugh. Lisa was already grabbing an oven mitt and carefully relocating the pot of peas to a colander in the sink.

"Well, more or less." Dean offered meekly, and his wife turned to grace him with a reassuring smile.

"Of course it is." She placed a quick but tender kiss on his lips before shaking out the peas and dumping them into a waiting serving bowl. Sam relished the quiet light in Dean's eyes as his brother watched Lisa work for a moment before turning back to his beer - and his comfortable dining chair.

"Where's Benny?"

"You know, he doesn't actually like that name." Sam pointed out, sinking his large frame in to the chair that Lisa ushered him towards.

"Are you kidding? I've been callin' him that since he was ten and in the Little League." Dean retorted.

"Well now he's fourteen and hates baseball." Sam reminded his brother, and Dean batted away the accusation with his hand.

"He does not hate baseball."

"Hey mom?" Ben's voice seemed to get deeper every time Sam heard it. But then again, Sam hadn't heard it in a while, "Why do you keep dumping this thing back in my room?"

The question rang clear even over the determined thud of bare feet as Ben came hurtling down the stairs and into the dining room, clutching the offending baseball mitt in his hand.

"I stuck it with the garage sale stuff!" He insisted, and then gave a short exhale of pleasure as he caught sight of Sam, "Hey, Sam! Didn't know you were here!"

"What's wrong with the glove?" Dean wanted to know, and Ben rolled his eyes patiently as he stalked over to the table and plonked himself into one of chairs.

"It's a pussy sport and I want out."

"Um, okay, language, please?" Lisa remonstrated.

"Well it is!"

"And what's that got to do with a $150 glove?" Lisa demanded, sleek hair bouncing in decisive crimps as she set the roast on the table.

"Ryan Humphrey wants to buy it for $200." Ben placed the offending item on the table, "I told him to come to our garage sale next Friday and I'd sell it to him."

Dean let out a laugh, "That's my man." He bumped fists with Ben, while Lisa and Sam exchanged skeptical glances before the former raised her eyebrows decisively.

"Alright, well let's talk about it later. No need to ruin the occasion with questionable business enterprises." This sentence she aimed pointedly at Dean, who cleared his throat and swallowed with a nudge at Ben.

"Hey,"

"Huh."

"Glove off the table, buddy, come on."

"So, Sam, how long you staying?" Ben complied, sweeping the baseball glove into his lap and scooting his chair forward.

"Uh, I dunno yet." Sam admitted, nodding gratefully at Lisa as she carved him a portion of meat and scraped it onto his plate. Lisa always served enough food to feed an army. Ben and Dean would eat the entirety of the meal between themselves if Lisa and Sam, with their bird-like appetites, weren't also present. Not that it made much difference.

"Well are you gonna be here on Monday?" Ben served himself a sizeable portion of mashed potates as he spoke, "Cuz there's this thing I wanna ask you about and..."

"No." Both Lisa and Dean blurted out the word simultaneously, and Sam sighed long-sufferingly at Ben.

"Would this 'thing' have something to do with Tracy Simmon's death, by any chance?"

Ben huffed at his parents' sour faces, "She was drowned in her own sink. I mean, does that smell right to any of you?"

"You know what doesn't smell right? Your jersey. Aren't you using that deodorant I bought you?" That was Lisa's primary tactic - subject-switching. She was a pro, Sam thought. She had to be.

"I went by her house after school and talked with her mom? Tracy's sink was backed up the day it up happened - they were having a plumber over to check it out!" Ben had turned the full heat of his persuasion on Sam, who was well accustomed to such treatment and wisely remained silent while the powers that were battled it out.

"Eat your food." Dean's tactic was the same as it had been for Sam growing up under his brother's thumb - orders. Dean was great at them. In fact, he had a whole repertoire up his sleeve.

"So what, you guys are just gonna let whatever killed her get away with it." Ben was insistent and unrelenting. He always had been, according to Lisa. The accompanying attitude had come with puberty.

"Sam and I'll look into it. In the meantime, keep off the Simmon's lawn. Last thing they want is some kid badgering them." Dean always talked with his mouth full. It was a habit he had only managed to aggravate in Ben, who had been born with his own unique version. The two of them drove Sam and Lisa nuts at the table.

"Well then maybe you two should go check it out." Ben's last-ditch attempt at rebelliousness was muttered quietly in a tone that stated he was standing up inside.

"Maybe we will." Sam both acknowledged Ben's point and ended the topic in one move. Lisa flashed him a grateful hint of a smile.

"Peas, Sam?"

"If you say no, the door is that way." Dean warned coolly from between swigs of his beer, and Ben would normally have stifled a snicker had the boy not been too absorbed in sulking.

Sam grinned at his brother, "No thanks, Lisa, I'm good."

"Don't let it hit you in the ass on the way out." The older hunter finished his beer and slammed it down on the table in a heightened display of sensitivity, and Lisa shook her head at her hubby's antics.

"Can you two just behave yourselves for one meal, please?"

"Absoloutely - eat your peas like a good little boy, Sammy."

"I would if they weren't the charbroiled insides of what used to be 'my peas'."

"Mmm, I second that." Ben hadn't managed to stay out of the family jab-and-counter-jab for long, and Dean exchanged a silent expression of triumph with his wife. Lisa's mouth tightened into a fought-off smile and she appeared grateful when her cell phone buzzed.

"Sorry, that's mine."

"Yeah we know - you think any of us'd have the Hulu as a ringtone?" Ben was attacking the roast for seconds with great gusto and seemed back to his usual self once again.

"I thought this was a no-cell phone event." Dean complained as Lisa stood up, and she patted his shoulder.

"Sorry, I forgot to turn it off." Lisa stalked into the hall to avoid disturbing the room's other occupants with her call.

"I'm turning mine back on!" Dean yelled after pettily, and then nudged his brother, "Whaddya wanna bet it's Stan callin' her?"

"Stan?" Ben's ears perked up, "You don't mean that wierd male yoga student of hers, right?"

"You bet I do; twenty bucks, right here." Dean tapped in front of him pointedly, and Sam sighed heavily at his older brother.

"You familiar with the term 'paranoid' there, Dean?"

"Nah Stan's not paranoid, he's just a pervert."

"Honey," Lisa had one hand over her phone as she returned, looking somewhat ruffled, "It's Castiel. He wants to talk to you."

Dean took the phone as she handed it to him, "Cas?"

"Can you remind him he's always invited to Sunday dinner but he's never allowed to call you during it?" Lisa resumed her seat with as much irritation as the well-mannered woman would ever show in public. In public being the key words. Dean had told Sam some hair-raising stories.

"At the house, where I always am on Sunday." Dean nodded at his wife's request while continuing his conversation with his angelic associate, "Why you callin' anyway, man? You know Sunday dinner's sacred."

"Nothing is sacred anymore." Castiel's deep voice sounding off not one meter away from Ben caused the teenager to jump and send his fork clattering to the floor - along with the peas that had been gingerly waiting on the tip of said fork.

"Jesus Christ!" Ben muttered in exasperation as he turned to glare at the angel standing in the dining room, "Don't you ever knock?"

"Ben, don't be rude." Lisa clearly shared her son's sentiments but was nothing if not a sticker for manners.

"Kid's got a point, though." Dean's viewpoint on manners was that if they weren't on a hunt and garnering information, manners (at least the sort that Lisa - and Sam, incidentally - insisted upon) were a luxury.

"I'm sorry, but my time is limited." Castiel stepped around the table to stand between Dean and Sam's chairs as both brothers twisted to face him, "We need to talk."

"Can't it wait?" Dean demanded sharply, and Castiel's blank expression spelled out his negative response.

Dean's scowl remained as he exchanged a meaningful glance with his brother before catching Lisa's gaze from across the table. She drummed her fingers against the tablecloth and pressed her lips together in a clear display of displeasure, but nodded briefly at her husband.

Ben's eyes were keen, eagerness hiding behind a thin layer of indifference as his gaze darted back and forth between Dean and Castiel. Something about the dark excitement on his face made Sam, who was the only adult in the room attuned to it just then, wary and concerned.

"Fine." Dean pushed away from the table, "But this better be good. Let's go out back."

"I'm afraid the location for this discussion needs to be slightly more secure." Castiel spoke apologetically, and before either Sam or Dean could stop him, he had touched a finger to both of their foreheads.

The three men disappeared sharply from the room, leaving Lisa and Ben sitting in silence at the table.

Ben was snickering now, and Lisa, who found the situation anything but amusing, cast him a frown.

"What?"

He glanced at her slyly, "Dinner with the Winchesters. Great name for a sitcom, don't you think?"

Lisa's eyes were icy and dangerous, "Eat your peas."


"Wal-Mart." Dean griped as he waved a hand at the rows of packaged meat in the frozen food section, "You call this secure?"

"The incessant noise and activity will likely throw off any potential eavesdroppers." Castiel seemed certain of his facts as he stalked over to a row of trolleys and turned to Sam, who, unfortunately, was with Dean on this one.

"Likely? Cas, for dragging us halfway across town we're gonna need a little more than 'likely'."

"Do you have a nickel?" Castiel demanded, and Sam frowned in confusion at the bizzare request.

"What? What do you want a nickel for?"

"To blend in!" The angel stated as though it were obvious, and Sam sighed while he fumbled through his pockets and handed Cas the requested coin.

"Thank you." Castiel shoved it into the trolley's slot and pulled the trolley neatly out of its hold, shoving the handle into Sam's grip, "Let's walk."

The brothers cast each other befuddled and frustrated glances before Dean raised his eyebrows at the angel, "Fine." He grabbed hold of the trolley and yanked it out of Sam's hands, rolling it towards Cas with enough force to send him almost a step back as he caught it, "But you're pushing the damn trolley."

"So?" Sam was the first the ask the million-dollar question as the two followed Castiel down the aisle, "What's this about?"

"Nate Winters is forming an alliance with Meg." The angel informed them, "I witnessed their conversation in the very same room where Meg is housing the preliminary beginnings of the epidemic."

"Well that makes no sense." Dean brushed shoulders with a morbidly obese man clutching a packaged rake and ignored his glare, "Nate said she came back to stop Meg. Why would she wanna cosy up to her?"

"Because she didn't come back to stop her." Castiel stopped in his tracks, "She came back to help her."

"What're you pausing for emphasis?" Dean found the notion highly amusing.

"No. For poultry." Castiel turned and scanned the shelves in complete confusion before selecting the nearest frozen chicken and tossing it into the trolley, "Let's continue."

Dean rolled his eyes as they commenced walking once more, "I dunno, man. Nate didn't exactly seem all that fond of Meg's five-year blueprint, Why would she wanna get in on it? Seems kinda dicey."

"Dicey." Castiel paused at the milk section and cast Dean a calculating look, "I don't believe I'm familiar with that particular human phrase." He reached out and added two cartons of semi-skimmed to the trolley.

"Means risky." Dean's hand clamped down on Cas' wrist, "Are you kidding me? There is no way I'm traipsin' through this joint with a trolley-full o' semi-skimmed milk. Do you have any idea how gay that is?"

Sam scoffed, "Dude, whatever. I've seen you with cart-fulls of Kellog's Special K."

"Yeah but that was for Lisa." Dean was busy packing the offending cartons back onto the shelf, and he turned to raise his eyebrows at his brother as he held aloft a six-pack of whole milk, "Cas isn't nearly as pretty."

Sam rolled his eyes as Dean pointedly tossed the milk into the trolley.

"Shall we continue?"

"Yes." Castiel didn't seem ruffled by the vague insult in the least as he steered the trolley into the men's-wear section, "I'm not certain of Nate's motives. It's possible she's intent on misleading Meg into believing she can be trusted. But I doubt it."

"Why? It makes a lot more sense." Sam queried, and then sighed long-sufferingly at the Star Wars T-shirt Castiel had pulled off the rail, "Dude...come on."

"My sources tell me this film has been popular for many years now." The angel explained in his defence, "I thought it would encourage the blending process."

"Sure, if we were buying it for Ben." Sam was trying to fend off laughter now.

"We are not buying it for Ben." Dean snatched the T-shirt out of Castiel's grip and replaced it with a plain-looking button-down, "Try plaid. It's timeless." He turned to move on without another word.

"Okay so...we just need to have you read her mind again and tell us which it is. It's simple." Sam followed Castiel and Dean into the stationary section as he spoke, and Castiel manoeuvred the trolley just in time to avoid running over an old lady's toe as she stepped out of nowhere.

"Watch where you're going, sonny!" She scolded.

"I apologize." Castiel called back dismissively and then focused his attention on answering Sam, "It's anything but simple. Since I last read her mind, Nate has had barriers put in place to prevent my doing so again."

"How exactly?" Sam furrowed his eyebrows in surprise, and Castiel skidded to a halt in front of a shelf full of notebooks.

"I don't know, but I'm guessing Oplexicon had something to do with it."

"Oplexicon?" Dean interjected as Castiel perused the shelves with a look of intense concentration, "What, you mean her archdemon travel agent?"

"She must still be able to communicate with him somehow." Castiel affirmed, finally deciding on a High School Musical spiral-bind. "Is this acceptable?"

Dean stared blankly at the angel for a full minute.

Castiel nodded, satisfied at what he deemed to be Dean's approval, and tossed it into the trolley, "If you wish to question her, I can take you to Nate's current location. More than that, I'm afraid, is impossible for me at this time. I have other obligations that must be attended to."

"Like what?" Dean's eyebrows arched as they joined a check-out queue, "Ensuring humanity's safety? Cuz if that's still on the priority list, I think this whole thing might be worth a little more attention!"

"If you are implying that humanity is no longer Heaven's responsibility, I must inform you..."

"Guys." Sam nudged the debating men sharply as they reached the counter, and Castiel cleared his throat at the comely attendant as she smiled at him.

"I would like to...make a purchase." He fumbled for a moment before twisting to his trolley and placing the odd assortment of items on the counter one by one.

The attendant, a pretty African-American who looked like she was fresh out of college, coyly eyed the three unusually striking men as she scanned their shopping. Dean smiled but made no further attempt at flirtation. He was behaving himself these days. Sam appeared lost in his own world of thought, the deep pensiveness overtaking him once again and leaving his handsome face dark and brooding - and unintentionally increasing his sex appeal by one hundred percent.

Castiel was glancing anxiously to and fro as the items were slid down the counter to a packing assistant. The clerk raised her eyebrows despite herself at the High School Musical notebook.

"It's...for my dog." Was the first thing Castiel managed to blurt out in his defense after sensing her strong distaste for the show.

"Uh huh." She quipped, before tapping at her keyboard, "43 dollars, please."

Castiel felt his pockets before turning to Dean, "Do you have 43 dollars?"

Dean glared at him stonily for a moment, keeping it up as he reached into his wallet and tossed down a fifty. "Keep the change, sweetheart." The older hunter pointed at Castiel determinedly, "You're gonna take us to her." He snatched up the plastic bags and shoved them into the angel's arms, "After we finish dinner."


Lisa was clearing away the dishes when a flutter of activity in her kitchen caused her to jump and spin around. She gasped at her husband standing less than a foot away from her.

"Sorry." Dean held up his hands, and Lisa lowered the wok she had been about to swing at him. She sighed in irritation and stormed back to the sink.

"You know what, Ben's right. It is annoying."

"You're telling me; I'm the one who keeps getting my nuclei torn to shreds." Dean protested his innocence.

"Big word, Dean." Lisa muttered as she filled the dishwasher, "You learn it from Sam?"

Dean appeared flustered for a moment, and his silence encouraged his antagonized spouse to glance over her shoulder and wait for a response.

"Ben's biology homework." He finally admitted, and Lisa smiled acidly.

"Why am I not surprised?" She resumed clearing the kitchen with a vengeance.

"Gimme a break, would you? He's an angel, he doesn't exactly ask permission before he drags me off for a one-on-one!" Dean tagged behind his wife, frustration seeping ever so slightly into his voice as she scraped the remainder of the burnt peas into the bin zealously, "Look, what was I supposed to do? Cas knows the weekend's off-limits, alright? I don't know how many times I've told him!"

"Well maybe you should stop telling him where to find you." Lisa paused in her silent treatment long enough to offer a small piece of her mind, and Dean had to admit he couldn't fault her logic.

"Maybe," He admitted, and Lisa rolled her eyes, "But I'll give him one thing, though, his timing could be worse."

"Could be worse?" She looked as though she was considering hurling the dishtowel at him, "Every Sunday for the last three weeks in a row, Dean - that's sabotage!"

"It's a meal." Dean was making the classic male error and at 35 he tragically still had no clue as to what that error was.

"No Dean. It's our family." Lisa waved the dirty carving knife in her hand for emphasis, and Dean's eyebrows rose cautiously all of a sudden, "It's me and you and Ben and Sam, together, and if that's not important to you..."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it, Lisa. Quit turning this into 'Days of Our Lives'."

"Okay, you know what? Fine." She slammed the dishwasher shut and poked the on-switch, "If you insist on making me out to be the melodramatic one, I'll oblige you. I'm sleeping on the couch tonight."

"Yeah which is code for 'you're sleeping on the couch tonight'." Dean muttered as he poured himself a glass of whiskey and chucked some ice inside.

"Excuse me?" Lisa demanded, and a sudden cough interrupted Dean's loaded response.

"Dad?" Ben had taken to calling Dean that when he was ten and still had a bad case of hero worship. Dean hadn't been too sure about it, but Lisa had encouraged him that if he was going to work the job, he may as well get the title since Ben was handing it to him on a platter. They'd never forced the issue. Every now and then as Ben got older, though, Dad became Dean whenever the teenager was surly and looking to place blame.

"There's some girl at the door asking for you." It was more of a question than an informational statement.

"A girl." Lisa seemed keen on using this as fodder for her current argument as she raised her eyebrows at her husband, "Well isn't that nice, honey? Visitors of every gender."

"Well technically there hasn't been a um...hermaphrodite...just yet." Ben was cautiously taking Dean's side, as per usual. His mother looked at him icily.

"Ben, is your room clean?"

"And that's my cue to beat it." Ben was already heading up the stairs with a sympathetic wave at his stepfather. Dean caught Lisa's eyes and held them with a sober expression.

"Are we cool?"

It was so very Winchester. The typical three-word query to ensure that wounds were, if not healed, at least patched up for the time being. To any woman not intimately acquainted with Dean and/or Sam, the question would seem casual and even uncaring. But to Lisa, who understood the significance it held, the white flag was recognized and accepted.

"Yes."

Dean nodded in relief, "Good." The issue was still standing and would have to be sewn up later, but the argument was dissolved. At least for right then.

Lisa forced a small smile before returning to the kitchen mess, "Better go see who it is."

"Yeah." He headed for the door, waiting until he was out of sight of Lisa and throwing a quick glance over his shoulder at the staircase to ensure Ben's absence. Then he reached into the back of his belt and drew his trusty handgun. The days of women randomly showing up at Dean's doorstep were dead and gone.

Dean wasn't surprised to see the door latched on its chain. The fact that Dean didn't want Ben in the hunting business had no bearing on teaching him caution. Dean and Sam would always be Hell's Most Wanted, regardless of white picket fences and Fords.

He peered momentarily through the peep hole and then frowned, unlatching the chain. Dean pulled the door open with one hand and let his gun hang by his side with the other.

Nate Winters was standing on the porch, arms crossed and looking as though she was expecting to get eaten by monsters at any moment, "Can I come inside?"

"No." Dean stated as though the question was outrageous - which in the hunters mind it was.

Nate scowled, "Don't be so petty. It's not like I didn't get past your little minefield of a front yard first - you got enough hidden devil's traps, salt and iron to catch a goddamn demon fleet."

Dean smiled mordantly, "Yeah well I take precautions."

"What I love about you. So can I come in now?"

Dean was about to shoot the question down a second time when he recognized true fear in the girl's eyes. Nate was afraid - and not of Dean. Something about her mannerism appealed to his inner protective streak, and without fully understanding why, Dean stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind him.

"We'll go in the garage, come on."

She followed him without a word.