Half an hour later, Melody emerged from her bedroom into the living room dressed in a pink and brown polka-dotted sundress and cotton-candy-colored wedge heels. She wore a creamy strand of pearls around her neck and matching pearl studs in her ears and carried a small pink clutch. Her hair was arranged in soft waves that floated around her face and neck. Dean was already in the living room, fully dressed, drinking his second cup of coffee while watching the morning news. He looked up and let out a low whistle when he saw her. "You clean up pretty good," he drawled. She blushed and thanked him.

"Why are you up?" she asked curiously.

"Not tired. What about you?"

"Thought I'd head to the early mass at church. I can't go to sleep once the sun comes up, anyway. Guess it's the country girl in me. Once the rooster crows, I feel like I should be milking cows or gathering eggs for breakfast or something."

He raised an eyebrow. "You know, they have stores where you can buy stuff like that."

"Uh-huh. Speaking of, can I interest you in some breakfast before I go?"

"Naw, just coffee. Sammy may want something if he ever wakes up, but cereal's fine for him. Give him some Fruit Loops, and he's happy as a clam."

"God, no wonder that kid's so skinny. Nobody that tall can reasonably be expected to survive on Toucan Sam's excuse for a nutritious meal!"

"Did you just call me a kid?" Sam asked from the doorway, rubbing his head. "I'm totally older than you. You're, what? Twenty-three?"

"Shut up, Sam, I'm only three months younger than you. I'll be twenty-four…" she paused. "Well, I guess I'll be twenty-four on Friday. Hmmm. Kinda forgot I had a birthday coming up. I was going to throw a party here next weekend. Sort of a joint birthday-slash-housewarming thing. But I'm not really feeling up to it. I was supposed to be presiding over my sorority's annual convention this weekend, but…well, I guess I wasn't feeling up to that either. I should probably resign as national president. I doubt I'll have the time to fulfill my obligations while chasing demons around the country."

"You're only twenty-three?" Dean asked.

"You're the national president of your sorority?" Sam asked at the same time.

"Twenty-four on Friday," she confirmed. "And, yeah, I'm the national president of my sorority. It started out as a local sorority almost five years ago. I was one of the original founders. But other schools have started to express interest in having us expand to their campuses, so we set up a national board, and I was elected president."

Sam nodded. "That's pretty cool. Seems like a lot of responsibility, though."

"Yeah. But this sorority was sort of my brain child. It was a huge part of my college experience. I expect I'll always be involved in one capacity or another."

"Wait a minute, you're seriously only twenty-three years old?" Dean asked again.

"Yes, Dean!" she answered, exasperated. "Why is that so hard to believe? And you damn well better not say it's because I look so much older."

"Well, no," he said slowly. "You don't look older. I guess you just…seem older. I mean, you already graduated from law school, got married, and bought a house. That's just not the kind of stuff you expect from someone so young. You're, like…mature."

"Yeah, well, I grew up fast."

"How old were you when you got married?" he asked curiously.

"Twenty-two. We were married less than two years. But we'd been together since I was seventeen."

Dean let out a low whistle. "Hell, I can't even remember how many girls I've been with since I was seventeen."

Sam snorted. "Dude, you probably can't remember how many girls you've been with since June." Dean shot him a dirty look.

Melody laughed and headed for the kitchen. "Well, I'm starving, even if you two don't believe in eating things that don't come out of gas stations. And I don't have to leave for church for another two hours. So I'm making ham and cheese omelets with jalapeño peppers and salsa, bacon, hash browns, and cheese grits. And I don't want to hear any argument about it."

"You'll get no argument from me," Dean called after her. "I might ask you to marry me, though."

She laughed as she carefully pulled an apron over her head and tied it around her waist. She bent to begin pulling pots and pans out of the cabinets and called over her shoulder, "Well, Dean, I'm afraid you'll have to wait a year for that. I'm in mourning right now, remember?"

When she got no response, she turned to see the brothers exchanging a look before Sam turned around sadly and walked back to the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Dean ran a frustrated hand through his hair, and Melody's stomach dropped to someplace in the vicinity of her knees.

"Oh, my God, Dean," she said, coming back to the living room and sitting next to him. "Jesus, I'm sorry, I didn't think about…"

"Don't worry about it," he cut her off. "I made a deal with the devil. I don't pussy-foot around it or try to pretend it didn't happen. Hell, if given the chance, I'd do it again without a second thought. My brother's life is worth a dozen of mine. And I've got a year to take down as many evil sons of bitches as I can before I go out. I think I got the better end of that bargain."

She nodded slowly. "I know what you mean. I've got a little sister of my own." She turned to head back into the kitchen, then stopped and turned back to him. "Hey, Dean? You wouldn't happen to have gotten that contract in writing, would you? I mean, I don't know exactly what rules these deal-making demons follow, but, from what I understand, there are rules. If there are rules, I can just about guarantee there are loopholes. And if I may say, I'm pretty darn good at finding contract loopholes."

He sat back on the sofa and looked at her, but said nothing. She shrugged. "There may be nothing I can do. But, Dean, please let me try." She looked him in the eye. "I know we only officially met yesterday, and it may make me sort of pathetic, since you're supposed to be fictional characters and all, but you and your brother are important to me. And the world needs Dean Winchester to be around for a lot longer than another year."

He ran his fingers through his hair again and smiled. "I knew you wanted me."

She flipped him the bird, and he laughed at the sight of a June Cleaver look-a-like flipping him off in heels and pearls. But she grinned and said, "I'm taking that as a yes. I'll go over the contract once the werewolf problem is corrected." With that, she went back to the kitchen and started breakfast.

By the time she was setting breakfast on the table, Sam had emerged from the bedroom, and they all sat down to eat as though nothing had happened. It figured. These were, after all, Winchesters.

After breakfast, Melody headed off to mass to pray for their safety in that night's battle. She left the men to spend their morning going over the plan in painstaking detail. This was the minutiae that never appeared in television episodes. It was the real explanation for how two brothers armed with only their training, their father's journal, their love for each other, and a kick-ass car had managed to stay alive all these years in their line of work. Their attention to detail and their careful planning got them a lot farther in real world hunts than did Dean's legendary snark. Melody came home a couple of hours later, looking peaceful. The ritual of the Catholic high mass always helped her to find her center. She settled down to go over the plans with Sam and Dean, who were still going strong.

By the time the sun was high, Melody's eyes were starting to droop. She had only gotten about four hours of fitful sleep the night before. She knew Sam and Dean often got by on far less, but she was accustomed to between eight and nine hours of beauty rest per night. So she went to her room to try and force herself to take a nap. She couldn't afford to be drowsy while hunting werewolves in the woods around the park that night. She shook her head at the very thought. Two days before, she had been pulling out bottles of liquor to help her escape the pain and anger of Isaac's death. Now, she was preparing to head out to the woods to avenge that death armed with three pistols and a pair of silver daggers Dean had given her (despite her protestations that she was a total klutz with blades). Oh, and two very hot and very imaginary hunters of all things evil.

As she drifted off to sleep, she wondered if she shouldn't be calling the grief counselor whose card the people at the police station had given her. She still wasn't entirely sure this whole escapade wasn't a product of either post-traumatic stress or the drinking binge she had been on since the night after Isaac's funeral. Oh well, she thought. At least I don't have any small children to drown in my grief.