Sam had asked Dean how this Lawson could have possibly known about Dad's old regiment. Wordlessly Dean flipped open Dad's journal to the back and pulled out a battered photograph.

"See that man there? That was Dad's commanding officer. His name is Dexter Lawson."

"Your friend's dad."

"Yeah."

"Dude, you okay?"

"Yeah, I guess." Sam sighed. "It's just-" He shook his head slightly. "I dunno. It's almost like every time I turn around I'm finding out something new about Dad. It's like I know more about him now he's dead than I ever did while he was alive, and I feel…"

"I know" Dean said gently. "Sometimes life's funny that way."

"Doesn't make it fair though."

"No, it doesn't."

There had been six of them serving under Sergeant Dexter Lawson. John Winchester left the regiment after his first tour of duty, but the others, Donnie Walsh, Walden Harris, Patrick Anderson, David Lewis, Reilly Berg and Dexter himself stayed on to become career soldiers, eventually being broken up and deployed to other regiments and technical support as they grew older.

But Echo 2/1 still bound them together. They'd go out for drinks, went to the other guys' weddings, and were uncles to each other's kids. Everything was good, until Donnie Walsh, known to the boys as The Don, put his standard-issue pistol in his mouth and fired.

Donnie never had any suicidal impulses while on active or advisory duty. His wife swore he had never suffered from depression, and the family wasn't enduring any of the situations that normally lead to suicide; they were financially secure, they owned their own house, there were no massive debts, the kids had all grown up and shipped out, and The Don himself had been promoted. In the next year he would have started at the Pentagon.

Laura Walsh, The Don's youngest daughter, was positive her father would not have taken his own life, but how could she tell her mother that she believed her dad had been murdered? And then Laura's sisters both lived too far away, and knew that their little sister was prone to exaggeration to tell a good story. Her own family wouldn't believe her.

So the woman went to the only man she felt she could confide her suspicions in. She went to her best friend and the guy she had dated for a while in college.

Reggie Lawson.

Lawson in turn confided in his father the Sarge, and Dexter, who had been just waiting for an opportunity to jump into action, called in a favour with the director of the NCIS.

What the NCIS found caused Lawson, a forensic scientist, to be assigned to the team investigating the death, and the Director personally called Dexter and Laura into her office, before bleakly explaining the situation to them.

And Dexter Lawson immediately thought of one man.

John Winchester.

Unfortunately through the Sarge's extended network of those associated with the military and those not so much, Dexter discovered that his old comrade, the one with a passion for things a little weird, a little off-kilter, had also passed.

He mourned, like you do, thinking of what his next course of action should be, when his son remembered something he didn't really want to.

Using the NCIS resources and the FBI database, which was incidentally highly illegal, Lawson utilised the network of speed cameras and telephone towers to zero in on an unsuspecting childhood friend, pinpointing the location of Dean Winchester.

And Sam went from being a little resentful of Reggie Lawson to wanting to sit down with the man and having a long chat. All this, from the possible murder of The Don, to Lawson's skilful tracking down of the Winchester brothers took place within a week. Sam was so impressed that for a moment he almost forgot to ask what the NCIS had found to reopen The Don's case.

"What did the NCIS find?"

Sergeant Dexter Lawson, a regal old man with white at his temples, folded his hands on the tabletop, glancing discreetly at his son. Lawson stood slightly off to one side, almost like he wasn't paying attention, but every so often Sam noticed his dark eyes flick over the brothers, scanning them, observing their mannerisms.

If he had all these databases at his fingertips, he undoubtedly knew what they said about Sam and Dean Winchester.

Sam was truly impressed. Dean just looked uncomfortable. From the moment the brothers had walked into the Lawson family house, Dean had been suspiciously quiet. He and Lawson, in the whole time the four of them had been in the same room together, had not exchanged words and had carefully avoided each other's eyes. There was a history there.

Sam couldn't remember what happened all those years ago. After all, he was only twelve at the time and had other things to worry about. Though he did recall Dad dropping Dean at this house many afternoons, and his big brother was so elated at getting out of there, away from the family for a while…

"No offence." Dexter said. "You pair seem like nice boys, but you're… boys."

He thinks we're too young. "Sir, you were eighteen when you started serving your country." Dean spoke up. In his eyes he showed Dexter a similar respect he had always showed Dad.

Dexter smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "So my son constantly reminds me." He said. "I suppose as we age we forget we were young when we too had first begun to save the world."

Save the world.

The Sarge glanced at his son again, and Lawson disappeared for a moment. Dean could hear something being unlocked. Finally the other man emerged once more holding to his chest a file with no perceptible markings.

"This is classified information about an ongoing case. If anyone finds out I've shown this to you, let alone taken a copy out of the office, I'm going to jail for a very long time." Lawson said gravely.

"Who am I gonna tell? Me and Sammy, we're like the hermits of the highway." He opened the file. "It's not like we have any friends in the immediate metropolitan – yowser."

"Dean?"

Dean held up a rather good-quality copy of a crime scene photograph.

"Is that the ceiling?"

"You betcha." He replied ominously.

"Crap."

"Someone put the Evil Eye on the Don." Dean said. "And I've been waiting my whole life to say a line like that."

Dexter appeared to live alone, so he was all too happy to let the brothers colonise his spare rooms and park the Impala on his back lawn, off the street. Lawson lived next door to his father with his wife and son, and it was the unbelievable good timing of Sam and Dean that allowed them to come across to engage in a family dinner.

"This is a friend of mine, Dean Winchester. And this is his brother, Sam." Lawson introduced at the table. "Be good." He said this to a boy about eight, his head full of blonde curls.

Garth, Lawson's stepson, looked at Dean for a moment, eyebrow raised. "Whatever." He finally replied. Mom and Dad looked at each other exasperatedly. Clearly the boy was at 'that' phase.

"This is Monty."

She was really a very beautiful woman.

"Hi."

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am." Dean reached across the table and took her hand in his. He lifted it to his lips and kissed it.

"Now." Lawson said in a warning tone. Dean released Monty's hand and grinned, his eyes twinkling. Lawson rolled his eyes, and for a moment Sam saw the pair of teenagers that had gone off into their own little world when they were together, so long ago.

"I'm flattered." Monty said. Her sweet, lopsided smile was infectious, and Sam and Dexter found themselves grinning too. "I didn't think men kissed a woman's hand anymore. Very chivalrous."

"If I kissed something else, I think I'd be in trouble." Dean replied flippantly. "Besides, One must be on good terms with She Who Makes The Rules."

"Then One is wise." Monty replied, her hand resting on Lawson's leg under the table to reassure him that Dean's charm wouldn't work on her and her husband was the one she was going to bed with later. "Dean Winchester. We haven't met before, have we?" She asked. Lawson had to admit that the banter between his wife and his old friend had the twang of familiarity to it.

"I'm sure I would have remembered." He said smoothly.

"Probably not." She remarked sharply, and Dean backed down, not willing to open that can of worms, just in case. Then Monty's eyes lit up. "That's right!" She exclaimed. "Dean Winchester! We were in the same class in that reform school in New York."

Sam snorted as he remembered that summer. Dean's teachers in the public school had recommended the reform school to John Winchester as the perfect place for problem children.

Dean had to cringe as he recalled the swirlies and the wedgies and the being stuffed in the lockers and the other stuff that came with being sent to a school where you happened to be smarter and better looking and all the other kids were bigger and meaner than you were.

"You were the geeky kid up the back of the class with the bad hair and worse innuendos."

Suddenly in a moment of clarity, Dean remembered who she was.

"Ha! You're the one that flashed the teacher to get me out of detention." He flung back.

You know that old adage, sweet sixteen and never been kissed? Well, Monty was the girl that had broken him from his dry spell, and he would always be thankful to her for that. God, she was hot.

And now she's someone else's wife.

"Those were the days." She sighed.

"They were." Dean agreed, settling back in his chair. His eyes had gone misty, and Sam elbowed him in the side. "Anyway." He said. "Enough with the Days Of Our Lives. Can we eat?"

"Dig in."

Dean piled his plate high. After living off sub-standard food for most of his life, he felt like he was in heaven. Apparently Sam thought so too.

"This chicken is amazing, Monty." He enthused. His brother nodded in agreement, mouth full. Monty grinned, looking pleased with herself.

"Don't they eat where you're from?" Garth asked curiously. His grandfather threw him a glance.

"Don't be cheeky."

"At least someone here appreciates my cooking." Monty said pointedly to her son.

"You'd be surprised what we eat when the situation arises." Sam said absently. At Monty's look, he hurriedly corrected himself. "That didn't come out right. What I mean is-"

"Accept his apology, Monts. He can stutter on like this all night." Dean said.

"Thanks." His brother replied sourly.

And so dinner proceeded along similar lines. Sam and Lawson began a conversation across the table about computers and current investigative techniques. Monty and Dean proceeded to catch each other up on where their lives were at the moment, Dexter sat quietly observing everyone, and occasionally young Garth would dive-bomb into the conversation, throwing everybody off-topic.

Across the path in Dexter's house, where Sam and Dean had left their supplies, in the pocket of Dean's jacket his phone began to ring.

And ring.

Finally it diverted to voicemail.

"Dean, it's Bobby. When you get this, call me. Something's going down."