Chapter 7 December 2010


Indianapolis, Indiana

The mall was huge. Dean stood under the atrium, looking up at floor after floor, rising like tiers in a wedding cake. But in spite of the capacity of the place, it was packed. This last weekend before Christmas had brought out every man, woman and child in the state, he thought, looking around disbelievingly. Where the hell did they all hide for the rest of the year?

It hadn't yet snowed, but a mixture of sleet, rain and icy winds had made the drive treacherous. He thought of the journey home, after God-knows-how-many-hours shopping, and swallowed. There were times when he was convinced that the hunting life had been safer. Just finding an empty space in the parking lot had been a challenge.

"I think we'd better split up," Lisa decided, looking around the jammed concourse. "We can move faster, and it'll be easier to be … discreet," she added pointedly, looking at Dean over Ben's head.

"Yeah, uh, okay. Ben, you and me'll grab what we need first," Dean agreed, his gaze zeroing in on a giant, inflatable elf, suspended halfway up the towering glass and steel void above them. Thing was visible from almost everywhere. He nodded to it, looking back at Lisa. "We'll meet you under that in, uh, two hours?"

"Right. See you then." Lisa turned and disappeared into the crowd, lost in the seething mass in seconds.

Dean looked down at Ben. "You know what you want to get?"

Ben nodded. "I need a CD store."

Dean looked around helplessly. There could be a hundred of them in here, and they'd never see them. "Know where the directory is?"

Ben grinned. "Yeah, follow me."

Dean kept close to Ben as the boy eeled his way through the ever-increasing throng of people. After a couple of hundred yards, he felt as if he was in one of those nightmares where it's impossible move faster than a slow walk, as if the atmosphere has thickened to the consistency of honey. Twice he almost lost sight of Ben's head, and had to shove through the press of the crowd around him to catch up.

"Ben! Not so fast," he called out, wondering if Ben could even hear him over the too-loud, too-cheery Christmas muzak and the humming drone of the crowd's collective voice that filled the centre of the mall with a thick wall of white noise. But Ben slowed and Dean caught a glimpse of his face as he turned to check that Dean was still following him. They reached the brightly-lit interactive store directory together.

"Okay." Dean scanned the board, his eyes racing over the list of stores in the complex, brows drawing together in increasing frustration. How many were there, anyway?

"There it is." Ben pointed vaguely toward the middle of the listings. "Level Three. Just near the elevators."

"Glad you could find it," Dean growled. The bottom of the directory had proudly proclaimed more than three hundred stores in the place and he was damned if he'd been able to see anything with a name that could be associated with music. He swung around as Ben darted back into the crowd.

"Ben! Goddammit – hold up, wait a minute." Dean plunged through after him, earning several affronted looks from the people he'd knocked aside as he caught the boy by the arm. "You might know where you're going, but I don't. We're not in a rush, okay? Stay close."

It took another interminable length of time to weave and wind their way to the bank of five elevators. Looking at the crushed-together groups in the clear glass boxes, he wondered if the place was old-fashioned enough to have stairs, and if so, where the hell they might be. The thought was wiped as one of the glass boxes opened its doors, disgorging the people in it and Ben darted in, turning to look at Dean as he was forced to squeeze into the tiny space two matronly women had left between themselves for him. Surrounded by the thick scents of cheap perfume, deodorant and hairspray, he decided that no matter how long it took to find them, they were gonna use the stairs to get back down. The ladies got out on the second level and he drew in a deep breath as they left, turning his head to see Ben's slight grin.


On the third level, the crowds weren't as thick, and they got out without being squashed into more personal contact than Dean could handle and without having to trample anyone to exit the lift. Dean followed Ben around the curve of the mezzanine balcony, expelling the last of the cosmetic odours from his lungs. Years of a life spent mostly in the company of his father and brother, in isolated wilderness and small rural towns, had given him a lifelong aversion to too many people, gathered too close together. He paused to glance over the railing, looking down at the shoulder-to-shoulder, pushing, heaving crowds below. How is this fun for anyone, he wondered?

When he looked up, Ben had vanished.

Oh, no. No, no, no, no. Not on his watch. NO!

He looked around, moving fast away from the railing. Scanning the curving walkway carefully, he started to move along the shop fronts, glancing into each one before moving on to the next. The music store was there, but he couldn't see Ben in it. He was already turning to go in for a better look, when the back of his neck prickled sharply and he looked along the walkway instead. Two hundred yards up, the crowds parted momentarily and he saw Ben, walking away from him, his arm raised and tightly held by a large man in a dark business suit, hustling them briskly along the walkway.

"Hey!" Dean broke into a run, dodging shoppers as he increased his speed. "HEY!"

The man turned to look over his shoulder, giving Dean a fast glimpse of a rounded, sweaty face, wire-rimmed glasses and receding hairline, and began to walk faster, dragging Ben along beside him. Ben looked around as well, his face white, his mouth slightly open.

They turned into a hall off the walkway, the sign next to it advising it led to bathrooms and an exit, and Dean sped up as the guy pushed Ben ahead of him, both disappearing from his view.

He reached the corner, accelerated hard as he turned into the corridor. At the end, the Exit sign was lit up over a fire door and he yelled out again when the guy pulled it open, getting his bulk through and pulling at Ben who was now tugging back to get free.

Sonofabitch.

Dean put in a final long-reaching spurt and caught Ben's wrist as he was dragged through the slow-closing exit door. The edge of the door caught Dean's shoulder, and he elbowed it back, sending it crashing into the wall, the concrete stairwell echoing with the bang.

"The hell you think you're doing?" he demanded as the guy dropped his hold on Ben and backed away.

Pushing the boy behind him, Dean closed the distance to the man, a dozen possible scenarios racing through his mind, each one worse than the one before, and he reached for the guy's coat, fists bunching in the lapels, and the guy cowering back against the wall as Dean lifted him slightly from the floor. Wide, light-brown eyes were magnified by the thick lenses over them, his face flushed and greasy with perspiration and his breath huffed in unpleasant squirts against Dean's throat.

"Hey! Buddy! I'm talking to you!" Dean said, aware the guy was seconds away from either pissing his pants or having a heart attack. He shoved him back against the wall.

"Urgh!"

Ben looked up at Dean. "He said I stole something, that he was taking me to the police."

Dean looked at the man flatly, tightening his grip. "Did he?"

Eyes bulging, the guy's mouth opened and closed, no sound coming out as he shook his head weakly.

"Ben, go wait by the door, okay?"

He didn't look around at the boy to see if he'd gone; his fists crushed the cloth of the man's coat, half-lifting, half-pushing him along the wall to the edge of the first flight of steps leading down.

"N-n-no, w-w-w-wait." The man suddenly found his voice at the brink of the stairs. "You don't understand, it's n-n-not what you think!"

He looked down at Dean's hands, gesturing feebly to his jacket pocket. "In there, you'll see. I thought the kid was with these other kids … they've been shoplifting all year … in the pocket, please, in the pocket."

Dean studied him for a long moment, then released one of the lapels and reached into the pocket the man indicated. His fingers felt the crisp edges and he drew out a folded sheet of paper. Opening it, he looked at the printout of a still frame from a security camera. Four kids had been captured on the printout, one with a game clearly in his hand, as it disappeared under his jacket. They looked a bit older than Ben.

"These kids?" He looked back at the man. "You thought this boy was one of these kids?"

"Yes, yes!" The man's eyes had filled with tears, trembling on the edge of his lower lids as he looked up at Dean.

"I've told the police, I've told security. There's nothing they could do …" He looked down at the paper. "When I saw your boy … I thought if I could get him to the police, they would find the others. It was a mistake – just an honest mistake, I swear it!"

Dean looked more closely at the grainy still shot. There was a boy, around Ben's height and weight, with the other kids. A close look showed the kid to be a bit older, but he could see how such a mistake could be made. He drew in a breath, his gaze rising.

"Get out your wallet."

The man gulped. "You're going to rob me?"

He felt a spurt of annoyance at the assumption. "No, I want to see some ID. I want to make sure you're not conning me," he explained with exaggerated patience.

"Oh." The man pulled out his wallet from his jacket breast pocket. "Here. I own Just Games, in the mall, on this level."

Dean flipped the wallet open and looked at the man's driver's licence. James Murray, of Greenfield. In the slot below, there were a dozen business cards for Just Games, proprietor James Murray. He handed James Murray his wallet back and released his grip on the man's coat, stepping back.

"Listen, uh, the next time, if you see a parent running after you, just stop, and explain," he suggested sourly. "Because, the next time, you might get someone less even-tempered than me."

Murray nodded quickly, giving Dean a wide berth as he passed him, squeezing through the fire door as soon as the opening was wide enough. The sound of his footsteps rapidly faded as he ran back up the hall. Dean turned to look at Ben.

"Don't go on ahead again, alright Ben? Stay close, stay where you can see me – and I can see you." His mouth twisted. "It's a nuthouse in there and your mom would kill me if I lost you, okay?"


Ben nodded seriously. He'd never seen Dean as mad as he'd been; holding the man's coat in both hands. Dean'd been ready to throw the guy down the concrete stairs, he was sure of that. That hadn't been a bluff, not the cold, dark expression on his face, or the way he'd manhandled the man to edge.

They walked back through the fire doors, and onto the walkway, and Ben stayed close.


Dean could feel the trickle of sweat, running down his back. The adrenalin was dispersing, leaving fatigue and the faint beginnings of a headache behind. He walked next to Ben, looking down frequently, checking he was there.

He'd faced monsters and demons, vengeful ghosts and elemental spirits, the powers of Heaven and Hell, but from the moment he'd realised Ben wasn't there, this encounter had skyrocketed up his list of worst moments in a heartbeat.

He shook his head. A part of it, he knew, was that Ben was under his protection, and his responsibility. A part was the strange déjà vu feeling that he was once again taking care of his little brother. But the major part had come from his feelings for the boy, from his affection, and the need in himself to make sure that Ben had a good childhood, a safe childhood.

What the hell was he supposed to get for Lisa, he wondered, standing on the fifth level and looking at the stores that seemed focussed on women's needs.

"Ben, what are you getting for your mom?" he asked the boy. Ben shrugged.

"She likes that, uh, perfume, you know, with the red top," he said, gesturing toward a bunch of storefronts that seemed to specialise in accessories. "It's really expensive, so she doesn't get it for herself."

"Huh."

He started to walk slowly past the stores, looking at the window displays. The lingerie store held his attention for a few minutes, Ben glancing at the lace and silk and satin items disinterestedly for a moment, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"You think she'd like any of this stuff?" he asked, glancing at him.

"I dunno," Ben said. "Ron used to get her a lot of that stuff, for her birthday and Christmas and stuff. One year, she told me it was more for him than for her."

His eyes narrowing slightly, he saw that Ben hadn't really gotten that and he turned away from the shop, walking fast to the next one. Last thing he wanted was to be compared to a guy named Ron. Ron who thought that sexy lingerie was what every woman wanted for Christmas. She was right. It wasn't as much for her as it was for him.

"Hey," Ben said, stopping in front of another store, this one with a window filled with hats and scarves and handbags. "What about something like that?"

Dean followed his gaze. The mannequin was wearing a short winter coat in white wool, and chocolate brown skin-tight pants, with some kind of matching set of scarf and gloves, both in an interesting mixed weave of deep greens, purples and reds. It looked nice, he thought, wondering if his judgement in these things was any use. He walked into the store and looked around.

"Hi, I'm Sherry, can I help you today, sir?"

He looked down at the girl who'd appeared beside him in bemusement. Early twenties, he thought, her fashion-conscious short skirt and low-cut blouse rendered unfashionable by the elf hat she had perched on her head.

"Uh, yeah, that, um, scarf and gloves set –" he said, turning to wave a hand at the display window. "– in the, uh, window."

"Oh, sure," she said, stepping around him to a rack and lifting a packaged version of them from the hook. "They're really popular. The colours match nearly everything and the wool's pure alpaca."

"Huh," he said. "Yeah, okay, I'll, uh, take one of those."

"What size?"

He blinked at her. "What?"

"Small, medium or large?"

"Uh … medium, I guess," he said, brows drawing together. He couldn't remember much about Lisa's hands, other than they were a lot smaller than his.

"Great!" She put the set she'd been holding back and took another one from the rack. "That'll be twenty-nine ninety-five plus tax. Cash or charge?"

"Cash."

Ringing up the sale, the girl put the set into a bag and handed back his change. "Happy Christmas!"

"Uh, yeah, thanks."

He found Ben standing by the door, and looked down at him. "You think that's enough?"

Looking down at the small bag, Ben shook his head. "Better get at least one other thing," he said. "Can we find the perfume place now?"

"Right."

It wasn't exactly how he'd thought it would be, he realised. Not that he'd been shopping for Christmas gifts for anyone for a while. And the last ones he'd deliberately bought had been a couple of skin mags and shaving cream for his brother, gotten at the last minute from a gas station.

He could still remember the last Christmas in Lawrence. Or, he thought he could, not sure now how much of that memory had been real, and how much had been his adult ideas of Christmas filling in the gaps.

The tree had almost reached the ceiling, covered in delicate glass balls and strings of coloured crystal beads, tinsel and painted pine cones, candy canes and candles. His father had put the star on the top on Christmas Eve. His mother had told him it'd been in their family for a long time, that her father had put it on their Christmas trees when she'd been growing up. A confection of glass and silver wire, it'd seemed to draw the light to it, capturing and holding it somehow.

He shook off the memory. Sam hadn't been born yet and nothing bad had happened and how fucking likely he was remembering that time accurately anyway?

"So, uh, Ben," he said, dragging his attention back to the present. "What else you think your mom wants?"


An hour later, Dean and Ben rode the escalator down to the ground floor, manoeuvring through the thick crowds toward the meeting place. Lisa was standing under the elf, waiting for them, surrounded by bags, boxes and more bags. She grinned at him as they walked up.

"Hey, right on time." She slipped an arm around Dean, reaching up to kiss him lightly, her gaze darting curiously over the packages both were carrying. "How was it? Did you get everything?"

"Yeah, and then some," Dean said, his expression screwing up with the recent memories. "Is there anywhere in here we can get something to eat? I'm starving, and Ben is too."

"Yeah, we'll go to the food court," Lisa said, gesturing upward. Dean looked up, stifling a groan as he saw the familiar fast food banners, wreathed in tinsel to mark the season, fluttering out from the railing of the highest floor. "It'll be easier to keep going if we're not carrying this stuff around. Can you take it out to the car? We can meet you up there, get a table. Maybe."

Dean looked at the pile on the floor surrounding them and sighed. "Sure."

Lisa pointed to the top level. "Okay, see you soon."

She slipped an arm around Ben and Dean watched them head for the elevators, heads bent close together.

"Okay." He began to gather up the bags and boxes, forgetting about the flimsy plastic or string handles and grabbing whatever he could to keep a good grip on them. When he had all of them, he found he could clear a reasonably wide path through the crowd, his arms stretched out to either side and people moving away from him. He headed for the parking lot.


Outside and away from the heated air and constant noise of the mall, he felt the low-grade headache receding. The sky was getting darker, thicker clouds building, pushed by a wind that seemed to be filled with ice. The forecast that morning had promised an early snowfall and it looked like it was going to be right, he thought. The lot's lighting cast wan patches over the cars, throwing gunmetal shadows between them. Loading the packages into the back of the pickup, he clipped the hard cover back over them and pulled his coat collar up.

The walk back to the mall, unencumbered by either packages or the responsibility of keeping Ben safe, gave him time to think about his reactions to James Murray, game store owner.

He'd been ready to throw him down the stairs, more than one flight as well, when he'd thought that the guy was trying to abduct Ben. He hadn't felt that savage fury for a long time and, he considered carefully, he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. It had certainly felt better to be able to deal with a threat directly, no shades of gray, just straightforward action.

Slowing a little, he wondered at that feeling of relief. The way his life was now, nothing was that straightforward, everything was a negotiation. The only things he could look at and deal with directly were the jobs he still had to finish on the house and even then the rental agency whined and bitched at the cost of the materials. His job should've been simple enough, but it wasn't, the crappy timber, fastenings and mouldings Davis had ordered fell apart or weren't straight, making everything take twice as long as it should've. He was still negotiating the relationship he'd stumbled into, on a daily basis. He couldn't find any more leads on the list of things he needed to open a gate and Katherine Macdonald had claimed that she couldn't help him with those. She'd been lying, he thought, although he couldn't work out why. He knew what a lie sounded like. And he was still waking, in the middle of the night, overheated and shaking with dreams he wouldn't've wished on his worst enemy. Sleeping hadn't gotten any better, he'd discovered. He was just getting used to getting less.

And all of that was something he just had to suck up, he thought derisively. There wasn't anything special about him, no easy road, no tequila and strippers. He'd made a choice and the shades of grey that'd come along with it were the price that had to be paid for the life he'd chosen. Had had chosen for him, the small voice in his head corrected.

He stopped at the glass entrance doors, brow furrowing. Was he still here because of his promise to Sam? He knew, without the slightest doubt in his mind, that if he could find a way to get started on getting his brother out of the cage, he'd leave Lisa and Ben and do it, without a backward look. What did that say about him? About his commitment to them? About his feelings for them?

A group of people came out of the mall, the glass doors opening and he walked through them, barely noticing where he was going. Leaning against the wall by the bank of elevators, he rubbed a hand over his face and stared at the ground. He cared for them. Cared about them. He liked waking up in a clean bed with the comforting warmth of a woman's soft body within reach. Liked coming home and talking to Ben, about his day, his problems, his goals and ambitions. Liked home-cooked meals and sprawling on the sofa on a Sunday evening, watching a movie, having the garage and working on the cars, teaching Ben about them, not being covered in blood and wondering if the highway patrol coming up fast behind him was gonna pull him over and check the federal databases for a Dean Winchester, criminal, murderer, grave-robber.

Was that enough? Was that enough to last a lifetime? Was it what most people had, a daily routine, a comfortable life, nothing too major to shake their belief that if they just paid their taxes and did the right thing most of the time everything would be fine?

The elevator arrived with a discreet 'ting' and he watched the crowd getting off absently as he waited for it to empty, seeing impatience and laughter and frustration and worry in the expressions of the people pushing past him. Getting on, he pushed the top button and decided that he'd enough introspection for a while. He was hungry.


Dean was packing the last of the packages from their second round of shopping into the back of the truck as it started to sleet, hurriedly clipping the cover back in place and hoping like hell it wouldn't spring a leak on the drive home.

"Got enough room, Ben?" he asked, sliding into the driver's seat. Ben sat in the middle, between them.

"Yeah, I'm okay."

"Okay." He started the engine, flicking on the headlights and twisting around to see if any suicidal shoppers were standing right behind them. "If I never come back here, it'll be too soon."

"Oh, c'mon, it wasn't that bad. This is what a normal life is like, Dean," Lisa reminded him, smiling. "I kind of liked it, it was fun."

He glanced over at her, his mouth curling up. "Okay, you can do it next year."

Spinning the wheel and reversing smoothly out of the space, he let out a long, noisy exhale as the pickup crawled along to join the long, long line of vehicles exiting the lot.


Turning to the window, Lisa smiled. Next year, she thought. It sounded like a commitment.

The last four weeks had been interesting. There had been a while, after his return from Virginia, when she'd had the feeling he'd been unhappy with them, restless and distant, their lovemaking sometimes – not always, of course – but sometimes feeling a little bit … forced, she allowed. Then, without warning or a discussion, Dean had framed a couple of walls around his small corner of the basement, installing a door and putting up drywall, sealing and painting them. He'd put a lock on the door and then closed it, and he hadn't been back down there, that she knew of, since. She'd asked about it, carefully, and he'd shrugged and told her he couldn't find what he needed. He didn't want Ben looking at those books and had thought that since they'd settled into the house pretty well, he'd just leave it for awhile.

That admission had made her heart leap, and when he'd kept to it, spending the evenings with her and Ben, not even on the computer for long periods, she'd begun to think that he might be finally letting go of his old life.

She still wasn't sure what it was about him that drew her so strongly. The sex was – and had always been – the most sensual she'd experienced, surprising in a man who was often pragmatic and hard in public view, but took his time and revelled in the pleasure of physical touch in private. But that wasn't all it was. In the last few months, she'd seen him at every point of the emotional spectrum, from black depression to joking around, looking relaxed and at ease with himself. She could be doing something and would feel him looking at her, and when she turned around, his expression would be … what, she wondered? Caring? Tender, maybe. As if he had found happiness in their home, this life they were making together. She'd never been able to really decipher those looks, and hadn't wanted to ask him about it, too conscious of the clichéd female curiosity and most asked question of all time – what are you thinking – right now?

He hadn't said anything about the future at all, but she wasn't expecting that. Didn't, really, even want it right now, she told herself. Just to get to know each other, to live in the moment for a while longer, to enjoy each other. That was all she thought she wanted. Those other things, future things, commitment and planning and decisions, those could wait. They would come when they were both ready.

Leaning back against the seat, she thought about what Christmas as a family, the three of them together on Christmas morning, might be like. Different, for sure. The last few years, she'd usually gone overboard in buying gifts for Ben, feeling the slight loneliness of just the two of them. This year, she'd bought one big present, and several smaller ones, knowing that Dean would be there to help him put it together and that too would be another memory shared, another foundation laid.


Finally clearing the city's limits and in less traffic as the conditions worsened, Dean thought of the tree they'd put up last weekend. It had taken all his strength to manhandle and wrestle the thing into the living room, but it was impressive, barely room between the top and the ceiling for the sparkling star Lisa had produced when they'd finished with the rest of the decorations, baubles and little figurines, tinsel and candy canes.

It filled the room with the fresh, biting scent of pine, providing a much-needed respite from the smells of baking that had filled the house ever since. He wasn't sure what Lisa had been baking, but there'd been a lot of it and he'd wondered how the hell she thought the three of them would eat all of whatever it was.

Sam would have loved it, he thought. Well, when he'd been a kid, anyway, he amended. Too many years of Christmases without trees, without ceremony or gifts had soured the day for his brother. He suddenly realised he'd never asked Sam about his Christmases with Jessica, not wanting to raise the subject the first year they'd been on the road, and then not really thinking about it.

Too late now.


Cicero, Indiana

The forecast snow had turned into an icy rain which was settling in by the time they pulled into the driveway. Pulling into the other side of the garage, Dean stopped the pickup next to the house door and got out, closing the garage door and hitting the lights. He unclipped the hard cover and lifted it, nodding as Lisa hustled Ben into the house and told him she'd thaw out a couple of pizzas for dinner.

Unloading the bags and boxes from the tray, trying to remember who'd bought which and dumping Ben's purchases in his room, he took the rest to the main bedroom. Lisa could figure out most of them, he thought. He'd left her gifts in the tray and he could put them in the Impala until he got time to wrap them.

The frozen pizza was tasteless but hot and he picked up the dishes as Lisa cleared the leftovers, putting them in the sink and running hot water in automatically. Most of their routines were as settled as his evening prowl around the house, and he didn't think about it anymore, just followed Lisa's leads on what she preferred to do and what she wanted him to do. Taking out the full trash bag, he dumped it into the can, shivering as the wind came around the corner of the house and found a way through his thick shirt and down his neck. It would be icy in the morning if it got any colder, he thought vaguely. He'd start late tomorrow, drive them to school and the studio, if it was.

Coming back into the house, he looked at the fireplace. It'd been a long, tiring day and he didn't feel much like prolonging it.

"Ben, time for bed. Still a school day tomorrow," Lisa said from the kitchen, and Ben nodded.

"'Night –" Dean yawned half-way through. "– Ben".

"'Night, Dean." Ben grinned, as he headed up the stairs.

"Exhausted by a bit of shopping, Dean?" Lisa teased him, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. He looked at her and yawned again.

"That wasn't a bit of shopping, that was a battlefield. Only the fittest survived," he retorted. "You staying up?"

"No, I'm going to have a hot shower and crawl into bed." She turned to look around the kitchen. "At least it's all done now. Just the wrapping."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "Go ahead, I'll lock up."

He watched her walk up the stairs, yawning again and turned away to check the doors and windows and the traps that guarded them. Everything was in place, undisturbed. Had that other world really forgotten all about him, he wondered as he turned off the lights and walked slowly up the stairs, or was this an illusion, this comfortable house in the middle of a comfortable neighbourhood, a feeling of safety and as if nothing would ever change?


Five days later.

Lisa turned off all the lights except a lamp by the sofa and sat down with a soft sigh. Beside her, Dean leaned back, savouring the quiet and the warmth, his gaze moving from the fire crackling on the hearth to the tree, glowing against the pale walls, with colours that seemed to only be this vivid and rich at this time of year.

They'd finished wrapping and the presents, bright with foil and twisting ribbon, sat in an enticing pile under the tree. Outside, the first big, fluffy flakes had begun to fall, drifting to the ground, already coating the bare branches and fence, promising a white mantle over the ground by morning.

Christmas Eve. As it was supposed to be, Dean thought. This was more like what he'd imagined a normal life to be. He looked down at Lisa as she moved closer to lean against him. From the stereo, a CD began to play, muted and in the background, a mix of carols and Bing Crosby, singing about snow and sleighs and the joys of the season.

Lisa tucked one leg under her and looked up at him.

"So … Ben told me that you nearly threw a guy down the fire stairs at the mall?"

Dean leaned back a little. "Uh …"

"He said the guy grabbed him because he thought he was with a bunch of kids robbing his store."

"Yeah, that's what he said. I told him not to run, next time he's chased by a … uh, concerned adult." He looked at her, trying to read her expression. The last time he'd advocated violence as a solution, she'd been hopping mad at him. "It, uh, didn't look good."

Lisa smiled. "Ben also told me that you're the best father ever."

"Huh." Glancing back at the fire, he wasn't sure what to make of that. "I – well – it was just a –"

"You made a big impression on him, Dean."

"You mad?" he asked.

"No. Not mad," she said. "I – you know, um, thank you."

He shrugged a little uncomfortably. "Uh, yeah, well, you know how kids like that action stuff."

Lisa leaned closer and put her hand up to the side of his face, turning him back to her.

"Thank you," she repeated firmly and kissed him.

Dean slid his arms around her, and pulled her closer, looking into her eyes. "You really think I'd've just turned up to meet you without him?"

She smiled. "No. It's just good to know that he's safe with you. That we're safe with you."

He lifted an eyebrow. "You weren't sure before?"

She shook her head. "That's one thing I've never doubted about you, Dean. But it's also nice to have it confirmed." She touched his face with her fingertips, trailing them lightly from his temple to jaw. "I don't think I've ever felt this safe, or … this happy."

He hesitated for a moment, looking into her eyes, then kissed her again, deepening the kiss until she moaned.

"Let's go to bed," he suggested softly against her lips.


The nightmare came at a little past one, and he sat up, wiping the sweat from his face as he tried to push aside the images that were still flickering in his head.

Easing himself out of the bed, he grabbed a clean shirt and padded to the bathroom, closing the door before he turned on the light, stripping down and feeling the cool air gooseflesh his skin instantly. He turned on the cold tap and doused his face in the water, forcing himself to breathe deeply and evenly until the images were gone and the tightness in his chest had loosened. He grabbed a towel and dried himself, pulling on the clean tee shirt and turning off the light.

On the bed, Lisa was still sleeping, he thought. He didn't want to wake her and he moved across the room silently, opening the door and slipping through, closing it behind him.

Downstairs, the living room was lit by the banked fire and the lights of the tree, a sight that was almost unbearably ordinary, and he stopped, looking around, feeling a dizzying disorientation, as if he'd walked from a nightmare into a dream of normality, neither real, both cutting through him.

One deep, dark nothing … dead inside.

This was real, he told himself, walking across the room to the liquor cabinet and pouring himself a glass. He swallowed it down in a couple of gulping mouthfuls and refilled the glass, turning to walk back to the sofa.

And he hadn't felt that hole since … he shut down the thought before it could finish, dropping onto the sofa.

"You alright?"

He started as Lisa's voice came from the hall, his head snapping around, seeing her emerge from the shadows into the dim light of the room. "Uh, yeah, just – you know, the usual," he said, shaking his head as he set his glass down. "Go back to bed, Lise."

"You want to talk about it?" she asked, walking to the sofa. "Any of it?"

Looking down at his glass, he wasn't sure if he wanted to or not. "I wouldn't know where to start," he admitted finally, glancing at her as she sat down at the other end.

"A while ago, you said something I didn't understand," she said, a little tentatively.

He waited, chewing the corner of his lip. He'd probably said a lot to her that she didn't understand and most of it he couldn't help her with.

"I didn't want to ask then," she continued after a moment's silence. "But I think – I think I do now."

"What?"

"You said that no one would deal, and that you got Sam back before," she told him. "What did you mean by that?"

"Uh …" he hesitated. He remembered the moment vaguely. He'd been frustrated to hell and back and she'd tried to talk to him. He shouldn't've let out that much, but his control then had been hair-thin and he'd been too close to breaking anyway.

"That's … uh, that's kind of hard to explain," he hedged.

"Dean," Lisa said. "We're in this together, aren't we?"

Were they? He wasn't sure about that either, but he'd known for a while that he couldn't keep it all a secret. There were, maybe, some things she had to know. Things about him, if not the past.

"Yeah," he said, dragging in a breath as he turned a little on the sofa to face her. "Look, you know what me and Sam did."

She nodded, her eyes on his face. "Yeah."

"It was more than just monsters," he said carefully. "Much more, but back then we didn't really know what was going on."

He couldn't tell her all of it, he realised as he searched for a way to explain. Couldn't tell her about his mother or his father or about what had been done to his brother, all in the name of breaking the devil free. She was probably going to think he was nuts if he got into any of that and from her viewpoint, he couldn't blame her.

"We were trying to find these, uh, psychics, psychic children," he said. "And we did, found a few of them. They were, uh, involved in this kind of plan, but by the time we found them, they'd grabbed Sam."

"When was this?"

"2007," he said. "There was a fight, between them, and Sam was killed."

"What?"

"Yeah, uh, he died in my arms," Dean said, swallowing against the memory. It'd come out easier this time. "And I tried, to let him go, but I couldn't. I made a deal. And it worked."

"Wait a sec, uh, go back – you made a deal? With who?" she asked, her brow furrowing. "You mean to bring Sam back from the dead?"

He could hear the mixed emotions in her voice, see them in the expressions that chased across her face. "I know how it sounds –"

"Do you?" she asked. "You're telling me that your brother, Sam, the one I met, died. And then you somehow brought him back to life, like a – like a zombie?"

"Uh, no, not like a zombie. He was, uh, resurrected, I guess you'd call it," he said reluctantly, shrugging. "In my world, in my life, that's possible."

"Resurrected," Lisa repeated flatly. "How?"

"There're demons who can do it," he said, wincing inwardly as the words came out.

"Demons?"

"Lise, you know, this probably isn't the best time to talk about this –"

Watching her draw in a deep breath, he wondered when would ever be a good time to talk about his deal to bring his brother back from the dead. It'd been his biggest mistake, he'd thought, but he would still do it the same way again. And maybe that was something she needed to know about him.

"Probably not, but when is?" she asked him. "Demons are real?"

"Yeah."

"But when Sam died, um, this last time, you couldn't make another deal?"

"No." The word came out flat and harsh and he saw her recoil a little. "No, I couldn't."

"Why couldn't you let him go?"

Dean picked up his glass, draining it. "When it came down to it, and I – I kind of got a look at the future, my future, I couldn't see anything worth going on for."

She was silent and he risked a look at her, unable to see her expression, her head bowed. She looked up after a moment, her face sombre.

"But that's changed now?" she asked him. "Now you've got something you want to keep going for?"

Hearing the question behind the question, Dean hesitated. He had a promise, he thought. A promise and nowhere else to turn.

"Yeah, now I do."