Andrew stared at the backside of his reflection in the mirror in both awe and shame. Getting the anti-possession symbol permanently inked into his skin wasn't something he saw himself doing, in fact if he was going to get any artwork done it was going to be People Are Strange from The Doors somewhere around the base of his neck. Dean made up a story for him so he could explain to his friends and family back home if they ever saw it; a typical drunken night overseas and not a lot of forethought. Andrew chose his left shoulder blade, being right-handed and so the sight of it wouldn't insult him in the morning. Dean had explained on their way home in the Impala why he needed to have it done. He told him the story about Sam being possessed but he kept the part of his life where he was a Knight out of the conversation. Andrew conceded albeit reluctantly as he explained why he really was against it to begin with.

For Andrew, it was like a scar that would never ever fade. In less than a week he learned that part of his heritage was chuck full of hunting and death. All those things that only existed in books and lore existed in real life. Innocence was gone. Andrew would have rather been told then maybe, just maybe, forget about it later. Memories can fade, but now with that pentagram seeping into his skin he would be forced to remember. He hated keeping secrets, especially from his mother and Hannah, and normally he would spill the beans when he couldn't bear it. Now he didn't have a choice. Tell them and they will be forever changed. Dean told him later that the Winchester's had a hard time keeping secrets for which Sam gave him the bird.

/ / /

Sam paced when he made phone calls, even if it was with someone he was at complete ease. When it came to business though he made the bunker his own goddamn catwalk. It drove Dean nuts when he did that. Andrew was off in his own little world, quietly copying old journals into his computer while listening to Imagine Dragons or something leaving Dean to eavesdrop on his little brother.

As they got older and Garth moved on to spending more time with his new family they picked up the slack for hunts and lore. They were getting older anyway and they couldn't do everything. There was a new generation of hunters now that could use cases that as their younger selves would finish in a few days; perfect for getting their feet wet.

Dean caught the word djinn and followed Sam to the map room. By the time he got there Sam had hung up. "So what was that all about?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged, "I had a few calls about signs of djinn in Nebraska from a few hunters passing through."

"And none of them could stop to take care of it?" Dean hated it when people ignored the signs.

"Everyone has their own hunts," he shrugged. "You want them to drop 'em too? 'Sides I got some people on it. Took a little arm twisting since they're in Maine right now so we kind of owe them later."

Dean sighed, "Alright, who do you got working it?"

"Aiden and Krissi."

"Fuck, really? They're together but not together together. Still?"

Sam nodded, "Yep."

"This is ridiculous. Either she is dense or he really needs to get schooled on making a move to get him out of this perpetual friendzone."

"Dude, while I'm still with you on that, like I have been for the last decade, that's not really why I have them shaggin' ass from Maine."

"I was gonna say, we could have done it."

"Yeah but with everything going on, now with Andrew and the fact you still don't have total use of your hand, I don't think going on a hunt is the greatest idea. We can't just leave him here."

"Right." Dean knew Sam was right. Sure his son was a grown man, but now things were different with him. It was like it was with Ben all those years ago. No one would be around to protect him in case something got into the bunker. There was also the possibility that he could uncover things that were meant to stay covered. He didn't know the fine details of where he was at the moment being technically a tourist, but Dean was starting to itch for a small hunt. "Look man, we have to do something with this kid. He hasn't booked a flight yet and he still has two and a half more weeks."

"We? I'm sorry but he is your son so you figure it out. You have experience with kids."

"Ben was different and you know that. This is a grown-up."

"Well, we both know you are an expert at grown-up things."

Dean got Sam's hint and he left the room.

/ / /

If there was one thing Andrew didn't want to deal with tonight it was a lot of prodding questions from strangers. While he was thrilled to go out and experience the Midwest Nightlife, he knew it was going to be hard to lie low being a foreigner. Dean gave him a few pointers here and there while Sam hung back making fun of said pointers. Andrew chose to stay quiet as much as he could since his accent was the main attraction. In the matter of an hour he had acquired three phone numbers from strange women and had a nasty taste of Patriotism from the local redneck: it was something along the lines of, "Git outta here, tater. This is 'Merica."

The bar was so different from his haunts back home. It was seedy, dark, and loud. It was cramped for a Thursday night too. And he thought Temple back in Dublin was a raucous place. Andrew preferred to drink his alcohol quietly, sitting down, surrounded by friends, and being able to hold a conversation that didn't have to be conveyed via yelling.

At least he could relax when he was around Dean. It was like being around The Winchesters was like having his own secret service. The beer they ordered was satisfactory by his standards, but then again he worked warehouse for Guinness during school breaks. Hannah joked that he liked his beer like he liked his coffee, darker than Satan's armpit.

"So what do you think?" Dean asked.

Andrew looked around, "It's very loud."

"Sad part is that this is considered a quiet night," Sam smirked.

"What you guys are frequent flyers?"

"For a while. It's a small town afterall."

Andrew nodded and took another drink. It was definitely an interesting setting to be in. A few things were different. Televisions played American football instead of the races, food was definitely greasier than he would like, and the people were a bit surly. Two things were the same as they were back home, beer, and the cue sports.

From the look of it, it definitely wasn't snooker as he grew accustomed to. Actually, he was more well-versed in the game to the point of playing for cash. He looked at Dean, "So what exactly are they playing over there?"

Dean stared at him like he was asking a stupid question, "It's called pool."

"Right, but what are they playing?"

Sam asked, "Are we going to have to compare this to some irish thing?"

Andrew rolled his eyes, "Yeah, over there we play snooker, but this isn't it."

Whilst Sam researched the game on his phone Dean got up and brought Andrew along toward the table where a few guys were playing. He briefly explained the game and Andrew listened very carefully. It was a little simpler than snooker. It was more of a race to see who could finish first rather than adding up points. "Seems simple enough," he said.

Dean smirked, "Sure, it's simple, but to win is an art."

Andrew huffed, "Is that a challenge?" He picked up the cue from the wall rack.

Dean did the same and racked the balls together. "Why not?" He obliged and through a quick best-out-of-three round of rock-paper-scissors (which he lost) gave the first turn to Andrew.

Andrew was stripes and Dean was solids. Sam watched from afar and saw the game go down in his nephew's favor. It was uncommon for Dean to lose, but it was out of the ordinary for him to lose after a few turns. His nephew picked his turns carefully with outcomes that sinked at least three in the pockets. Dean not being one to go down easily challenged his son again and again, adding low grade stakes such as pitchers of beer, the tab, and then his plane ticket back to Dublin. When that failed and Dean lost that round it changed to making Andrew's flight direct, no layovers. That was going to cost him some serious money, but it wasn't like he couldn't cook up some cash fast via Charlie's flawless hacking.

The next game caught the local bar fly's attention. He watched as Dean failed against the young foreigner and called the next game on him. Andrew obliged the request with a small monetary challenge. Dean being a father should have said no, but he was a little too interested in his son's talent. After a round Andrew was twenty dollars richer. Then there was another challenger who doubled the cash up front.

Dean settled in the back corner with a beer in his hand, watched with uneasiness as his play the game with calculated ease and rightfully earned swagger in his step. Andrew didn't talk much when he played, so opposite of Dean who's charm in the past got him into trouble. Andrew did his talking in the with the cue. After another challenge there was a small crowd hovering to watch. By now Andrew was up two hundred bucks and was close to calling it a night. While most were fairly respectful of him denying another game, he couldn't quite escape the racist redneck. "Hey you!" he bellowed from the back. "You think you can just waltz right into this great country and take our money?" This guy was incredibly drunk, but he was persistant. Dean stepped forward to get Andrew out of the path of destruction, but he insisted that Dean stayed back.

Andrew didn't tolerate ignorance and his tactic to shut it down involved words. Probably doesn't know how to use those, he mused with himself. "It wasn't like it was yours anyway. Last I checked you still owe money to China." The bar room didn't give any response to that remark. Dean was a bit floored that he had the balls to say that. Kudos to being brave.

"All you people think you're better than us," The Redneck continued. "But we own your ass in sports."

Andrew scoffed, "While that might be true, the only time we meet is for the Olympics. That happens every two years. You got us as far as brawn, but we have owned your ass as far as brains go."

"We speak English here, buddy, quiet that mouth of yours." Now The Redneck was pissed. He picked up the cue and Dean tensed up. He knew from previous experience what kind of damage a pool cue could do.

Andrew laughed, "I think you need to get your definition of English edited. Besides the theory of language is native to the Common Wealth."

"Smart ass."

Dean looked around for Sam and saw him still staring at his phone. "Are you serious?" he muttered.

"So what do you really want?" Andrew taunted.

"Your ass on this stick, Tater," he snarled.

"It's potato. If you're going to insult me, at least be intelligent about it."

Andrew knew he had the game in the bag. The Redneck was wobbly on his feet and too quick with anger that he overshot his call, missing the hole entirely. Someone must have ordered him another beer because he chugged one before making a call. It was a nail in the coffin to which Andrew took the game to hammer it shut. He ended it in four turns, and thankfully The Redneck passed out on the table before he could muster the slurred words to argue.

He hung up the cue and took out his cash, holding it up in the air, "Beer on me for all my challengers." The bar chorused in hoorahs. "Mostly because you all had much more class than this bloke." That only garnered a few laughs. He only watched a quarter of his earnings vanish when Dean walked up behind him slapping a hand on his shoulder, "You kid are a savant. It kind of scared me back there."

"It's just snooker for dumbies. Didn't take any kind of skill to win the cash."

They walked back to the table where Sam was still sitting and waiting. Dean continued, "Yeah, but I wasn't even twenty-two before I started to bring home the lettuce."

Sam chuckled overhearing the conversation, "Geez, way to make us look old."

He sat down gesturing to his son, "Yeah but for that kind of skill it has to be taught." He looked at his son who was finishing his beer from an hour earlier. "Where'd you learn to play like that?"

He shrugged, "Mum was with this guy for a while when I was barely in my teens. He played for World's back then and taught me a thing or two. Mum was pissed. She calls it a pub sport that is only glorified gambling if you will. Truth is, it was how I secretly made any extra cash."

Dean sighed, "Well, we're certainly no strangers to doing that."

Andrew continued, "I did it for a summer when she was between jobs, just to bring in some money, and as far as she knows I had a summer gig in the country that year. When classes got too heavy to have steady work I pulled a few late nights and it paid the rent. Now I do it just to set aside for rainy days, and for funding my search for you."

"So what now?" Sam asked. "Using that to pay for a tourist excursion?"

"Fuck no," Andrew laughed. He looked down at his hands trying to think of a good way to tell them. He had only told his mother so far and asked Hannah's father for his blessing. "I'm making payments on a ring."

"A ring," Dean echoed. "Are you serious?"

"Why do you think I have been apprehensive about learning the family legacy," Andrew answered.

Sam interrupted seeing his brother tense up, "No that's great. I mean, congrats for when you do it."

Dean still hadn't said a word yet. It was a shock yes, but it wasn't like he felt a right to advise him. He only knew Andrew existed a few days ago.

Andrew could tell that it probably wasn't the most prudent thing to talk about and tried to jump the conversation ship. He was having a good time with his father and then suddenly they were back to that awkward square one. He pulled out his phone and saw that he had a few voicemails and texts from Hannah. "Dammit," he grumbled. He almost forgot to call her. She would be getting ready for class right now. "I'm going to step out for a bit," he declared. The brother's didn't stop him.

/ / /

Early spring air was still frigid at night, but it was a sweet relief from the stuffy, hot, and loud bar. He read the texts first, mostly questions about when Hannah would expect a call. There was one update text from her about the dead student which was ruled murder, still no leads though. That last one had him fumbling to open his voicemail.

Hey, I was just checking in to see you were okay and that you were having a good time.

Andrew it is three in the afternoon out here and I know you should be awake over there. Give me a call, I need to talk to you about that murder vic.

Andrew Harris McDaniel, you need to come home. There is something going on…..

That last line turned to static. "Fuck," he growled, hastily dialing Hannah's number. Straight to voicemail. That wasn't like her. She was attached to her iPhone 12. She doesn't let anything go to voicemail unless it was work. She usually just pressed ignored and sent a text. Something was wrong and Andrew was freaking out. He tried her number again, but before he could utter a word he felt something strike him in the back of his head and the last thing he was aware of was the cold asphalt against his face.

Finally, I am at a place where this thing is going to keep moving. This might also get really long too. I had a lot of downtime at work and extra receipt tape (aka story note magic parchment). Details, darlings, details. Let me know what you think. I'm also open to suggestions because you guys are filled with cool ideas and I love to hear them. As for another update, uuuhhhh, maybe when I get a day off from these sixty-hour work weeks. Cross you fingers.