The television show "Supernatural," including the characters John Winchester, Mary Campbell, Samuel Campbell, and Deana Campbell, is copyrighted by Warner Brothers Entertainment Inc.

When the doorbell rang Mary yelled, "I'll get it!" from her room and ran downstairs to the door, speed inspired by nerves. Her parents had been almost completely silent that day as she bustled around cleaning up for John's visit. She could tell they thought she was serious about this non-hunter who was a stranger to them, and she couldn't very well tell them that she wasn't sure she was going to be in town long enough to get serious about anyone. She kept repeating that to herself, though. She didn't know why.

When she opened the door a gust of cold wind came in with John. He was wearing an old gray coat that was too tight across the shoulders and an air of quiet determination. "Oh, come in quick!" she chirped, then cleared her throat and readjust her voice down a half-octave. "Let me take your coat. Dad's in the dining room."

"Am I late?" he asked as she hung his coat in the hall closet. He glanced through the living room, which led directly to the dining room where Samuel was sitting at the table, leaning back a little, ostensibly reading the newspaper.

She rolled her eyes and spoke quietly. "No. He just likes to be the lion of the dining table."

John grinned. "OK."

She led John into the dining room, speaking as she moved. "Dad? This is John Winchester. John, this is my dad, Samuel Campbell."

Samuel lowered his paper a little and looked up at John with no very great favor.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir." John stuck his hand more than halfway across the table, almost challenging Samuel to be churlish enough to refuse it, and gave him a friendly smile. "I really appreciate your taking the time to help me with this car. It's got me stumped."

Sam dropped one corner of the paper and shook hands with John. "Well. Hope I can help."

"You must be John." Deana Campbell, a trim, short-haired woman wearing a tea towel doubled and tied around her waist in lieu of an apron to protect her skirt, came out of the kitchen bearing a tray with four glasses of water. "It's nice to meet you." She put the tray down and handed a glass to John. "Have a glass of water. I really don't think people drink enough of it."

"Yeah, that's her little fixation now," Samuel said with a grin, taking a glass from the tray himself. "She read it in a woman's magazine somewhere and now we might as well have an irrigator running across the dining room."

Turning her head, Mary fixed her mother with a death-ray look which Deana met with a placid smile as she handed Mary a glass. John's glass, of course, would have come from the pitcher in the refrigerator into which Deana dropped a sterling-silver crucifix every morning, murmuring a Latin incantation as she did. Her dad was watching John sharply, although he didn't need to; the reaction of a demon who drank holy water wouldn't be subtle at all. It would be like he'd just swallowed battery acid.

– And my parents think I'm so stupid that I wouldn't know –

John took a polite sip of water, smiled at Deana, and then the expression on his face changed.

Then he lifted the glass again and chugged the remainder.

"Wow," he said to Deana. "I must've been thirstier than I thought. Maybe you're right."

"You see?" Mary said meaningfully to her father.

"You keep it in the refrigerator, but don't serve it with ice," Deana said. "That way it's extra-refreshing. Well, have a seat, John. Mary, do you want to help me bring things out?"

Mary followed her mother into the kitchen silently. She smiled a little at the humor of what had just happened, but she was stung by it too. She grabbed a carving knife and fork before her mother could, thinking that slicing the tender meat would give her an outlet for the anger she knew she shouldn't feel. Deana dished tossed salad quietly into four bowls.

" – a lot less run-down," John was saying when they returned. "Of course, it'll look better when those trees get a little bigger and leaf out."

"Are you talking about the downtown redevelopment?" Deana asked. "It turned out really well, didn't it?" She put a bowl of carrots and onions and potato chunks that the meat had cooked in on the table, and Mary followed with the meat platter.

John leaned forward to inhale deeply. "Now that smells great."

"Doesn't it?" Samuel said. "She's been having to defend the kitchen from me for the last two hours."

John chuckled.

My God, we're good at pretending to be normal, Mary thought.

"Now let's see," Deana said. "John, do you want a beer?"

"No, thanks, ma'am. I'll take a refill on the water, though."

"I'll take a beer," Samuel said.

"Now that surprises me," Deana said in an unsurprised tone. "Let's see – what else?"

"Ketchup," John and Samuel said in perfect unison, although John made it a question.

Deana laughed. "Of course. Mary, you sit down now. I'll get the rest."

"So you're a part-time mechanic," Samuel said as Mary sat, taking great pains over arranging her napkin.

"Soon to be full-time, I hope. Actually, my goal is to own my own garage."

"Call your own shots, eh? Lot of work being self-employed."

"Yes, sir. I'm putting together a plan so hopefully I won't get overwhelmed anywhere along the way."

"Going to stay in town?"

"I want to. My dad's here. And frankly, I can't think of a better place to live. Enough stores and businesses that you don't have to drive an hour to get anything, but not so over-crowded that . . . "

– He's trying so hard, Mary thought. I should make more of an effort too. I just didn't realize how pathetic it would feel, playing normal American family, when the whole time I know the only reason they let me invite him is that he has a job for us that he doesn't even know about.

" – brother, Mary," John was saying.

She looked blankly at him, then laughed. "I'm sorry, I was daydreaming. What?"

"I said I didn't know you had a brother who moved to Chicago. I guess some people really do like big cities."

"Some people really like fast living," Samuel said dourly. "I just hope he has the sense to move someplace smaller when they start having children. Big city like that is no place for kids to play outside, or walk to school."

"Well, not until they're 11, anyway," Mary said quietly. "Then Roger can teach them how to handle a rifle and guard the house when their parents are gone."

There was a marked silence.

John soldiered on. "Well, there's something to be said for big cities. Chicago's a great town. I guess it's just personal preference."

"Besides, Samuel, you make it sound like he's drinking and going to wild parties," Deana said, with a quick glance between her daughter and her husband. "There are more museums and pro sports teams and interesting things to do in Chicago than here. I wouldn't call that 'fast living.'"

"You know what the ideal would be?" Mary wanted to atone for her sharpness, and thank goodness she had a topic in the forefront of her mind. "The ideal would be a small or a mid-sized town, like Lawrence or maybe larger, with farm country around it, but you could easily get to castles and deserts and museums right from it."

She cast a quick smile at her father, who wasn't ready to smile back yet, and then noticed that John was looking at her as if he'd made a wonderful new discovery about her. She liked the look, but didn't know why she'd earned it.

"There are good museums up on campus," Deana said. "Have you ever been to the Natural History Museum, John?"

"Not since my sixth-grade field trip. You know what they say: If it's in your own hometown, you never get to it."

There was a round of chuckles and a moment of silent eating.

"So, John," Samuel said, and then with emphasis, "Mary asked me to talk to you about this car of yours."

"Actually, it's not mine, it's the company's, so if you have any ideas, Curt Bailey and I would both really appreciate it. It seems to be a temperature control issue, but I can't tell – "

The next half-hour was pretty technical, as Samuel and John discussed the Impala, along with way swapping stories of weird automotive maladies they'd run across. The four finished dinner, and Deana shooed the men into the living room with the promise of pie and coffee in a few minutes.

Mary began carrying dishes into the kitchen while Deana spread out a newspaper and began scraping the unusable orts onto it. "John seems nice."

"He is nice."

"Could you see – not right now, of course, but could you see, sometime in the future, discussing hunting with him?"

"Absolutely not," Mary said, fast and flatly.

Deana sighed. "That's part of what you like about him. That he's not a hunter."

"Part of it, yes."

"I know that – "

Deana's voice quivered a little and Mary stopped moving around the kitchen to look at her.

"I know that you and Roger both think you were cheated out of your childhoods. That's why he moved away. That's why he's so angry that he and his wife won't even come back for Thanksgiving."

"Well – no, Mom, I don't think he's that angry. Any more. I think he just doesn't want to put Debbie at risk by coming here."

"People are at risk all the time." Deana took a breath. "I've told you how your father and I met."

She had; only once. Mary had been a child, and even so she had realized that the memory caused her mother so much pain that Mary had never pressed her for details. "A werewolf killed your brother. Dad came into town and killed it."

"Yes. But I never told you that I was there."

"You were there when Dad killed the werewolf?"

"No. I was there when it killed Tommy."

Mary swallowed. "No. You never told us that."

"I can't bear to think about it. Not just – not just what happened, but what I did. What I didn't do."

"What – "

"We were taking a shortcut home." Deana moved closer to Mary and lowered her voice. "Through a park. Not even a big park, just a few blocks, but there were a lot of trees. I was angry at my parents for making me walk my little brother home from the movies instead of letting me stay out later with my friends. Tommy ran on ahead, and I let him."

There was a pause. Deana looked as though she were concentrating.

"I heard him scream. I ran ahead. There was – I couldn't tell if it was – a man or some kind of animal standing on its hind legs. It was holding Tommy in the air, by his throat. Tommy saw me. He couldn't scream by then. He said, 'Deeny.' That was what he used to call me when he was learning – "

Her voice broke. She took a breath.

"When he was just learning to talk. The thing squeezed, with its claw, Tommy made the most awful – the most awful sound."

"Mom, please – you don't have to – "

"Yes, I do. There's a reason." Deana looked at her. "What I'm saying is – I did nothing. I stood there, I couldn't believe it. It was like a nightmare, like watching a horror movie. It couldn't be happening. I had no idea what to do, how to – I stood and watched while the thing tore his throat and – ripped open his chest – "

Her calm snapped, a sharp loud sob escaped her. She leaned against the counter as though it was the only way to keep from falling. Mary grabbed her. "Mom, please. Please don't. Why are you torturing yourself?"

"Because I need you to understand." Deana took Mary's arm and looked her in the eye. "I never. Never. Ever. Want you to feel the way I did then. So completely helpless. Knowing that someone you love died because you stood there staring and did nothing."

"Mom. He died because a werewolf attacked him. There was nothing you could have done. It wasn't your fault."

"Your father's been trying to convince me of that for more than twenty years. Sometimes I believe him."

Mary felt tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"But that won't happen to you. I'm not saying nothing bad will ever happen. We both know. There are monsters. And there are diseases and drunk drivers and – Bad things can happen. But you won't, neither you or Roger, you won't just stand there. You won't just watch it and do nothing. You'll know. You'll know."

Mary put her arms around her mother and for just a moment Deana wept on Mary's shoulder. Then she straightened and pulled gently away, wiping her eyes. "Well. I've kept you out here long enough. You go talk with John and your father. No, I mean it. Tell them I'll be out soon with the coffee."

"And the pie." Mary moved to the kitchen door and tried to make it sound like their whole conversation had been this light. "Don't forget the pie!"

She gave a little laugh, paused in a nook of the dining room to wipe her own eyes, and went on through to the living room.

"Only two people, that I know of," John was saying.

Her father was sitting in his worn easy chair and John was sitting on the side of the sofa nearest him. Mary settled beside John, who smiled at her quickly and then turned back to watch Samuel, so that Mary was seeing her father around the back of John's head.

"Who were they?" Samuel asked John.

John looked puzzled.

"It can make a difference. Different driving styles. If you know who heard the car make a sound, you might to able to figure out what they were doing and get to the root of it."

"It's a good thought. Unfortunately, I really don't know. One of them was a previous owner who only had the car for a week and brought it back. The other was a, uh, former employee of the car lot."

Mary saw her father's eyes sharpen at John's slight hesitation. "You didn't like him?"

"I never knew him. He, well, apparently Curt feels he may have been dishonest. With company funds."

Samuel lifted his gaze quickly to meet Mary's eyes, and she nodded her head very slightly.

"So," John finished, "it would probably be awkward to tell Curt to call him and ask about his driving style."

"Yeah, just a little. I'll tell you, John, you've done everything I could think of in your place. Let me chew it over for a day or two, maybe I'll think of something."

"I appreciated the discussion. And I really appreciated the pot roast."

"Which reminds me, where's that coffee? I'm going to go help Deana with that."

Samuel rose and Mary let him go a step or two before saying, "Oh, Dad, don't be silly, that's my job!" and following him out. She did remember to look back at their guest and say, "We'll be right back!" before joining Samuel and Deana in the kitchen.

Deana was putting daubs of Cool Whip on slices of cherry pie, and the percolator was filling the kitchen with the scent of fresh-brewed coffee. Samuel was getting coffee cups and saucers out of the cupboard. "What do you think?" Mary asked him.

"Well, I think you're right. It's a spirit, and that car will be haunted until we find the body of whoever's haunting it and burn the bones. Good thing you had such a lousy childhood, or you never would've known."

"I'm sorry," Mary said.

"Now, Samuel." Deana showed no signs of her earlier emotion except a slight pinkness around her eyes. "I went through that with her just now. Let's move along."

"Hm," Samuel said. "Well, anyway, you were right."

"But do you think it's worth it?" Mary asked. "I've been thinking about it. When you balance the risk of getting caught burning a corpse against the fact that all the spirit does is make the car hard to sell – "

"Someone'll buy it eventually. And these things accelerate. It probably made the car cold before it started moaning – next thing you know, it's steering the car into the Kaw. Best to get rid of it while it's still just a nuisance."

"Interesting that only two people have heard the moaning," Mary said.

"And that one of them was probably a crook," her father replied. "So, maybe, a cop who died during a crime the car was involved in."

"Or maybe a criminal trying to warn people against a life of crime," Deana said, handing two saucers of pie to Mary. "Now our company's been sitting out there by himself long enough."

"We'll need the VIN," Samuel said to Mary, heft a tray of coffee cups.

"I'll go out and get it tonight after John leaves."

"Need any help?"

"To get into a car? Please."

It's like I have a split personality.

Late that night, actually early the next morning, Mary lay flat on her bed. The late-night cold still seemed to cling to the jeans and dark jacket she'd changed into before going to Lawrence Used Auto. The Impala's VIN was written in a small notebook that lay by her bed.

– One moment I practically want to brag to the world about what great hunters my parents are – heck, I practically want to brag about myself. And the next, I wish I'd never heard of it and certainly would never bring up my children that way.

She understood what her mother had been saying earlier. But the price for bringing up children prepared to act at any danger was teaching your children that the world is a horrible, dangerous place. Of course, some children do grow up in threatening places, their parents have no choice but to teach them that. But if you have a choice –

Deana hadn't felt that she had a choice. But Mary did.

Didn't she?

And wasn't she jumping the gun? What children? Never mind children, what husband? Who would want to marry into this freak show?

John?

Talk about jumping the gun. They'd had three dates. If he knew she was thinking about marriage and children in connection with him, he'd run screaming.

Of course, he had good reason to run anyway. And she couldn't bear that thought. To fall more deeply in love with him, to be close enough to tell them the truth, and then to have the whole thing end because of that –

Maybe it was easier to end it now, before she had to face that heartbreak. Keep doing what she'd been born to do, what she knew she was good at.

What about her escape plan? The escape to a life that she had no idea how to live? Better to do that now, before she ran the risk of breaking John's heart? Or she could ask him to fly with her, to tear up the roots he was just beginning to re-establish. And again, if she got close enough to him to ask him to join her, she'd have to tell him about herself, and it might all be –

She suddenly realized how hard she was clutching the bedspread and how fast she was breathing.

– Calm down. It's all right. I can't do anything for a couple of weeks anyway, I'm certainly not going to leave Mom and Dad with no other family at Thanksgiving. For that matter, I ought to stay at least through Christmas. Maybe by that time I'll have decided exactly how I feel about hunting. Or John. Or the plan. Calm down.

She lay in the dark, trying to relax her muscles, to breathe normally, to fall asleep.