::Flays self for laziness:: So sorry for the long wait. After a long day of chasing down criminals, my brain is normally too fried to write. Summer in law enforcement is a nightmare. But I had the afternoon off, so I pounded this out so ya'll would know I'm still alive. Thanks again to all who have reviewed. You guys are great. As always, I have no beta, so any mistakes are mine and mine alone. Also, sadly, Dean and Sam are not mine. If they were I would sic them on some of my clients. Please review!


The afternoon was fading fast when Dean drove up the gravel road toward the farm, grimacing every time a stone pinged against the paintwork of the car. He honked his horn as he pulled to a stop next to the barn, and when no one emerged to greet him he shut off the ignition and laid his head back against the headrest for a moment, feeling every mile of the five-hour drive in the numbness of his ass.

One of the barn cats ambled out to meet him as he eased himself out of the car, and she twisted and twirled around his ankles, making small chirping noises and purring like an engine. Dean bent to run his fingers over her tiger-striped fur and she kicked the purring into overdrive, her chest thrumming with the sound. After a long and noisy stretch, Dean limped into the grass and eased himself to rest in the frayed hammock that was strung between two mammoth chestnut trees. Uninvited, the cat leapt to curl up on his chest as soon as he laid down, her purr like a tiny massage through his shirt. The sun-faded material of the hammock molded itself around his body like an embrace, rocking gently in the wind, and a swell of sleepy contentment washed over him. This is it, he thought. Work a nine-to-fiver, do construction, then home to the farm to relax with a beer and a steak on the barbeque. It's only for a year. I wouldn't get bored in just one year. I could do this.

Dean opened his eyes just a smidge, vision fuzzy through the veil of his lashes, and stared at the sky that flickered into view through the aspen leaves. The drone of a single engine plane broke the silence and Dean couldn't suppress a sudden burst of laughter, because into his mind had leapt an image of Sam in a bi-plane, all scarf and goggles, scanning the ground below with binoculars. Searching for him. The thought made him anxious and sad and relieved, all at once. He was sad because he knew that Sam would never stop looking, because he knew that Sam was hurting. He was anxious because a part of him hoped that his brother would understand what he was trying to do and let him do it. Relief was because he was confident that he could stay a step ahead of Sam. Shit, Sammy. Why do you have to be so stubborn? Why can't you just let me do this for you? Hell, let me do it for me.

Such was his reverie that he nearly jumped out of his skin when something cold and heavy dropped onto his lap, which in turn sent the cat flying out of his embrace, her claws leaving a quadruple set of scarlet slashes across his wrist. He flailed momentarily, the hammock preventing him leaping to his feet to defend himself, and then a familiar chuckle stilled him. A glance at his stomach revealed a large parcel wrapped in butcher paper and saran, with a tinge of pinky blood collecting in the folds of the plastic. "You almost crushed the jewels, woman," he grunted, vaguely annoyed. "And you'd think that you of all people would know better than to sneak up on a hunter."

"I thought you knew better than to get snuck up on." Stella cocked an eyebrow at him, and then cast a pointed stare at his chest. "Those steaks ain't gonna cook themselves, you know. You'd best fire up the grill now, if you want to eat before the skeeters come out." With a practiced thrust of her arms she spun and started toward the house, her wheelchair bumping across the rutted driveway. Dean extricated himself from the hammock, hefting the steaks in his hand, and followed. The cat, perhaps smelling the meat, followed him, meowing sweetly, ignoring his blood on her claws.

Dean wiped his bloody wrist across his shirt and began to scrub down the grill grates with a wire brush. A few spiders scuttled away, but the one who did not suffered a sudden and flaming death when Dean clicked the grill's igniter, sending a rush of flame across the grates.

Stella emerged from the house with a tray full of food and dishes set precariously across her lap. Dean hurried to relieve her of it, and barked a laugh. "Jesus, Stell, are you expecting more people?" She shot him a look and a gesture and he laughed again, setting the tray on the picnic table. "So where were you earlier?" he asked as he laid out the mismatched silverware and the heavy plates with their chipped edges. When Stella wasn't looking he stuck his finger into a particularly tasty-looking bowl of pasta salad and popped a curly-q noodle into his mouth.

Stella wheeled up to the grill, a pile of half-shucked corn on her knees, and laid the ears carefully across the grates. "Had to run into town. The yard boy went up to the Yoop, so I had to lay some things in before the weekend. If I knew you were comin', I might have bought some PBR instead of the expensive stuff." She jerked her thumb toward the two bottles of beer on the table.

Dean grinned and swatted at her with the spatula. "What ever happened to 'Only the best for my beloved Dean'?" Stella gave an unladylike snort of laughter, which only made Dean smile even wider. He stepped to her side and tossed the steaks onto the grill, inhaling to catch the immediate scent that wafted up. "My feelings are hurt." Stella laughed again, chucking a hunk of cheese toward the cat, who pounced and devoured it, then went back to rubbing her face on Dean's leg, begging for scraps of meat.

"You realize that you haven't asked what I'm doing here, don't you?" Dean pressed his spatula onto one of the steaks, listening to the sizzle of the drippings in the fire. A part of him was nagging for silence, to just enjoy the peace of the farm, not to fuck it up with his reasons for coming. Not to disappoint her with what he had done. But she deserved an explanation. She deserved to know.

"Figured you'll tell me when you're ready." Stella didn't look at him, instead concentrating on the fruit she was dicing for salad. "And if you don't want me to know, that's fine too."

Dean felt his chest tighten with fondness for Stella, in all her faded, graying, grouchy glory, and with a strange sadness too, a desire to hide the truth from her. In all honesty, he was ashamed to tell her; ashamed and afraid that she would hate him for what he had done. Before he could think to stop it, he blurted, "Sam died, Stell." Stella's head jerked up, eyes wide, mouth a little 'o' of shock, and Dean hastened on before she could speak. "He died and I made a deal."

Stella's face went through a rapid-fire set of emotions, from anger to sadness to understanding, finally settling on a gray look of weariness. "Shit." The word was spoken without judgment, without rage. It just was. "Then where's Sam?" As soon as the words left her mouth, understanding dawned in her eyes. "You left him behind, didn't ya." It wasn't a question. Her knife went back to clicking against the cutting board, staccato, sharp like the angry words that she didn't speak.

Dean mashed down one of the steaks a little harder than necessary, the heat from the fire searing against the scratches on his wrist. "I didn't have a choice. If I tried to break the deal, the demon would have taken Sam back. And you know that stubborn little bastard was going to try to find a way to fix it."

"I hardly think you're in any place to call him a stubborn bastard." Stella's voice was vaguely accusatory, and Dean's gaze flew to her, confused and a little hurt. She glanced at him, her knife still chopping away at a pear. "Why did you bring him back?"

A little flare of anger blazed in Dean's eyes, and he snapped back, "That's a hell of a question. He's my brother, what was I supposed to do?" She looked up at him, one eyebrow raised, mouth pursed a little. Dean tossed the spatula down, anger growing. "It's my job to protect him. You know that. I had to do it."

"So you brought him back because otherwise you would be a failure." Stella laid her knife down and stuck one of her fingers into her mouth, sucking off the fruit juice.

"You know what? Fuck you, Stella." Dean jabbed at one of the steaks with his finger, ignoring the heat that blazed across his hand. "If you can't understand somebody loving his brother enough to die for him, then I feel sorry for you."

"So you love him enough to die for him, but not enough to stay with him while you do?" Her voice was even, unbothered by his anger.

"I'm trying to spare him, Stella." Dean's voice broke a little and he gave a cough, trying to cover the emotion, trying to chalk up the tears in his eyes to the smoke. "I won't let him throw his life away by trying to get me out of this. And he would never just let it be, he would try and try until he finally broke the deal, and then I'd have to lose him all over again. I can't do it. I won't do it."

Stella smiled, gesturing at the grill. "Don't burn those." Dean stared at her for a minute, and then couldn't suppress a laugh.

"Jesus, Stella, you're something else." He slid the steaks off the heat and onto a platter, and stepped over the picnic bench to sit across from her. "Get a guy all worked up, why don't ya."

"All I'm sayin' is you'd better at least be honest with yourself." She spooned a helping of fruit onto his plate, then stole a grape from the bowl. "Because I'd wager that sooner or later you're gonna have to explain it to Sam." Stella rested the neck of a beer bottle against the table and gave it a downward slap, sending the bottle cap flying, and handed the beer to Dean. "If I know anything about Winchesters, I know that he's as stubborn as you, and you won't be able to get away from him for long. And you owe it to him to tell the truth about what his dying did to you."

Dean took a bite of steak, and gave a little groan of pleasure as the tender meat almost dissolved on his tongue. "I know," he admitted. "But in the meantime, no more lectures. Let's just eat." He took another bite, then spoke around the food. "But thanks." Stella quirked her mouth in a half-smile, and offered forth an ear of corn.

And so they sat quietly, enjoying their meal and listening to the crickets singing in the trees.