Lonely Is the Night

Rating: M

Disclaimer: Supernatural is the property of Eric Kripke and the CW – i.e., not mine. Jayne Gibson, Lynn and Steve Juarez, the Hannigans… all mine. I write for pleasure, not profit – and I have no money, CW, so good luck suing me!

AN: Big thank yous to SPN Mum, Spelllesswonder29, Aelthar101, ColtFan165, angeleyenc, Amber, and MYP for the reviews!


Chapter 7: Can't Fight this Feeling Anymore

Sam's hand was definitely broken.

It would have made him laugh, recalling how certain Lynn had been when she'd told him that his hand was fine, except for the part where his hand was broken, and it hurt like hell.

He was sporting a brand new, beige colored cast on the supposedly not broken hand. The limb ached dully under the itchy plaster, and now a throbbing had begun in his temples as well. Sam longed for one of the aspirins secreted in his duffel bag – which was, of course, tucked away in the trunk of the Impala.

They were on the road, again. Dean was at the wheel, as always. Sam rubbed his forehead and slumped in the seat, squeezing his overly sensitive eyes shut against the too bright sunlight streaming in through the windshield.

"Where are we going again?" he asked irritably, using his uninjured hand to shield his eyes from the sun.

"Some podunk town in Colorado," Dean reminded him, eyes on the road. "Run of the mill haunting, looks like."

Sam nodded, and regretted it. The sudden, jerking movement caused the pain in his head to intensify tenfold. "Right," he practically hissed.

He couldn't see the look his brother gave him, but he felt Dean's eyes all the same. "Dude, you all right?"

"Fine," Sam spat, rubbing his temples again.

"Sure. You look it."

"Leave me alone, Dean."

It was an award-winning migraine – the kind that left you half blind and trying to pass out. Sam refused to open his eyes and tried to go to sleep. "I love this song," he heard Dean say beside him.

Sam chanced opening one eye, and caught Dean reaching for the volume dial on the radio. "No!" he snapped, smacking Dean's hand away.

Dean stared at him, bug-eyed, completely neglecting the road.

"Uh…" Sam backtracked, closing his eyes again. "You think we can pull over?"

"Sure," Dean said slowly. "In fact, that's a great idea. We need gas."

Sam doubted they needed gas, but he wasn't going to argue. He could feel the car slowing down, and about ten minutes later the Impala came to a stop. Sam slowly opened his eyes again and found them parked beside the pump at an ancient, rundown gas station. The rusted overhand above the pumps gave them some shade, and Sam was able to blink around at his surroundings – the tiny white building, the cracked pavement, and the empty roads that intersected right by the edge of the parking lot. Jayne's old gray truck coasted up to the pump on the other side of the cement divide where Dean had parked the Impala. Sam winced at the sounds of doors slamming, and shut his eyes again, leaning his forehead against the slightly open window.

"What's going on?" he heard Jayne grunt at Dean. "I could swear we just stopped for gas."

"Sam's sick, I think," Dean returned in a low voice. "I don't know – he asked to pull over."

There was a brief moment of silence, followed by mumbling noises that Sam could not be bothered to try and decipher. He heard the clanking and creaking of the old gas pumps as Dean and Jayne filled up their vehicles.

The back door swung open on the Impala, and Sam nearly leapt out of his skin. "Sam?" he heard Lynn ask just behind his head, her voice quiet and cautious. "You ok?"

He was tempted to snort at her, because the last time she'd played doctor, she hadn't diagnosed him so well. "Fine," he grit out from behind clenched teeth.

"You want an aspirin?"

Finally, a plan he could get behind. "Um, yeah," he said softly, forcing himself to open his eyes again. He turned in his seat and met her eyes over his shoulder, even though his vision was so blurry, he could barely see her face. "Thanks."

Lynn fished out a bottle of painkillers and pressed them into his hand. Sam took them gratefully and then pushed open his car door. "I'll be in the bathroom," he told her. Then he stumbled over the cement barrier and snuck past Dean and Jayne, who were standing on the other side of the gas pump and talking in hushed voices. They didn't seem to notice him, so Sam kept going, squinting against the sunlight, and finally made it to the bathroom doors on the side of the tiny white building. He practically fell into the door with the male stick figure painted on it and gratefully stepped inside the dark room.

The lack of light was a lot easier on his head, but the stink of the restroom did his suddenly queasy stomach no favors. Sam tried to ignore the foul smell and the odd discolorations on the floor, walls and sink. He ducked into an old, creaky stall, tried and failed to close the door, and then hit the suspiciously brown floor on his knees beside the rusty, stained toilet bowl.

His stomach lurched, and he gagged. Then he proceeded to empty his stomach of everything he'd consumed over the past twenty-four hours – hell, probably everything he'd eaten for the past week. After several long minutes of vomiting, his stomach finally stopped rolling, and Sam managed to clamber back on his feet. The movement went straight to his still pounding head, and Sam stumbled into the side of the stall, clutching the broken door for support. The bottle of aspirin rattled in his coat pocket, and Sam fumbled his way towards the sink, where he ran the water, watching it spiral down the drain of the green-stained basin and washed his hands. Then he popped a couple aspirins and splashed some water into his dry, bitter-tasting mouth.

His vision went blurry again, and then he saw a flicker of something else. Suddenly, the dirty bathroom mirror was gone, and he was standing in the sun, on a bustling sidewalk, watching a heavyset, dark-skinned, gray-haired man strolling along the street with a smile on his face. The man's cell rang, and he immediately answered it.

Whatever the person on the other end said, it couldn't have been good news. Instantly, the smile was gone. "All right," the man said slowly.

Then the man was gone, and Sam was left blinking at his own reflection again. Groaning, he gripped the sides of the sink and squeezed his eyes shut again; leaning over the basin as splitting pain tore through his skull. The sound of the running faucet rang in his ears – and then suddenly, the water was replaced by the sound of car horns and engines as vehicle after vehicle tore up a busy city street.

Sam could see the man again – graying and portly and deadly serious as he talked on his cell phone. He stood directly under a tall, gray clock tower, and he watched a large white bus with a blue insignia reading 'Blue Ridge' on the side drive on past. Then he hung up the phone, and immediately his smile returned. He walked across the street, and inside a small hardware store. The man sauntered to the back of the store, where the sporting equipment was, and right up to the man operating the gun counter. "Afternoon, Dennis," he greeted the fair, chubby, weathered looking sales clerk.

"Hey, Doc," Dennis replied, putting aside his magazine.

"I'd like to look at a gun."

Dennis laughed. "Yeah, right, Doc."

Doc just stared Dennis down until the man sobered up and blinked incredulously. "Seriously?"

Doc nodded. Dennis hurried behind the counter to comply with his possible new customer's request.

"Um…" Doc murmured, his eyes roving over the rack of firearms displayed on the wall behind the counter. He pointed at the gun on the left, a long brown and tan shotgun. "That one."

Dennis still looked bemused, but he unlocked the security device strung around the rack and took down the gun in question. "Ok…" he said. "That's a turkey hunter. Twelve-gauge. Pump action."

He experimentally cocked the gun and smirked at Doc. "Don't leave enough turkey behind, if you ask me."

Dennis handed the twelve-gauge over to Doc, who frowned down at it, turning the weapon over in his hands. "What, uh… what sort of shells does it use?" he asked.

The store clerk reached under the counter and pulled up a box of the requested ammunition. He was still studying the doctor, who was still studying the gun, neither one of them looking entirely certain about what they were seeing. "I'm taking the boys up to the cabin this weekend," Dennis said as the doctor pulled two shells out of the small yellow container. "If you're uh… I mean, if you're thinking you'd like to take up the sport."

Doc laughed at that. "Thanks, but no. You know guns make me nervous! Always have. So… this one goes in here…"

The doctor slid the shell into the chamber and, for someone whom guns made nervous, expertly loaded the shotgun.

"Whoa, Doc, no!" Dennis protested. "You can't load a weapon on the premises! It's illegal!"

"It's ok, Dennis."

"No, no…"

"It's ok, Dennis." Doc loaded the second shell, and then aimed the shotgun directly at his friend. "It's all going to be ok."

"Doc…!"

Bang!

Doc drew the trigger, and fired the gun. The blast caught Dennis in the chest, tearing through his torso, and the now blood-splattered man flew backwards into the doorway behind the counter, shattering the glass window on the top half of the door.

The surrounding customers screamed as Dennis slumped to the floor. "No, no!" Doc reassured the panicking patrons, even as he pulled back the hammer a second time. "No, it's ok! It's all going to be ok."

Doc pressed the barrel under his chin and fired.

Bang!

The doctor slumped to the floor, and bright red blood splattered on the shiny white display sink fastened above him, on the wall.

Sam blinked, and the bloody sink was gone. Instead, he was staring at the dirty, green-stained sink in the gas station bathroom, clutching the sides as he struggled to stay upright. He blinked, trying to refocus his vision on his surroundings – the dark, dirty, rundown bathroom seemed even darker and dingier compared to the shiny, clean hardware store from his vision.

Gasping in pain, Sam removed one hand from the side of the sink and cupped it under the icy flow of water. He splashed the cold water on his face, trying to focus and stay awake. The pain was still there, and his stomach was turning again. He choked back a gag, swallowing down another round of vomiting, and splashed some more water on his face.

The bathroom door creaked open, and a ray of sunlight beamed into the dark room. Sam winced at the sudden, painful brightness. "Sam!" Dean barked from the doorway. "Zip it up! Come on, let's go…"

Sam could barely acknowledge his brother's presence, still gasping for breath as he clutched the sink. Dean trailed off, frowning at him. "What?" he asked.

He didn't answer right away. All he could do for a moment was stand still and stare at the sink. Finally, he squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself upright. "I… I had… a vision," he panted.

Dean blinked. "A… what, like a… a vision?"

Sam frowned at him, immediately irritated. "Yeah, Dean. A vision."

He marched for the door, and stumbled before he got there. Dean rushed to his side, grabbing him by the arm and holding him up. "Whoa," he said. "You all right?"

"I'm fine," Sam snapped, jerking his arm free.

"I don't know Sam, maybe you should sit down or something…"

"I'm fine," he insisted. Dean didn't look like he believed him for a moment, but Sam didn't care. He ignored his brother's frown and limped out of the bathroom.

The sun burned his eyes and Sam instantly shielded them with his hand. He pressed on across the pavement, towards the shelter of the gas-pump overhang. Lynn darted out to meet him, holding a bottle in her hand. "Hey!" she called. "Are you ok?"

She pressed the cold soda into his hand and he accepted the offering without thinking about it. Lynn stopped and stood beside him, squinting up at him through the sunlight with obvious concern. "Sam?" she asked softly when he didn't say anything.

"I'm fine," he told her, forcing brightness into his voice. She didn't buy it for a second – he could tell by the look on her face. "Thanks. Um… the thing is, I think I had a… a…"

"A vision?" Jayne supplied dryly.

He hadn't seen her approach. Sam swung his head in the direction of his voice, finding Jayne standing off to the side with her arms folded across her chest, the sun bouncing off her blonde hair. She had a sour expression on her face, and one of her eyebrows was raised skeptically.

"Yeah," he frowned. "How did you know?"

"You mean besides your crippling migraine and the panicked expression on your face?" she retorted. "Don't know; guess I'm psychic too."

Dean arrived on the scene just then, his keys jangling as he swung them loosely from his fingertips. He looked worried still, and kind of irritated. "Did you tell them?" he asked.

Sam nodded. Then he gently pushed past Lynn and made his way towards the Impala. He couldn't take much more of the heat and the sun and the mere act of standing upright. It was just a migraine – just a vision – but it felt like he was dying.

The other three followed him back to the car. Sam's door was still wide open, and he collapsed into the seat, unscrewing the cap on the drink Lynn had given him. Dean, Lynn and Jayne crowded around him, all staring at him in concern and confusion. Dean perched his elbow on the roof of the car, frowning into the car at him, and Lynn hung on the open door, leaning towards Sam with worried eyes. Jayne didn't get that close – she leaned back against the gas pump, her arms still folded over her chest.

"A vision," Lynn said.

"Yeah," Sam snapped. "A vision."

"What did you see?" Dean demanded.

Sam didn't answer right away. He'd been rubbing his aching head, but now he dropped his hand and turned towards the backseat. "Hang on," he whispered half to himself. He reached around the back of his seat and scrabbled for the bag holding his laptop.

"Sam?" Dean asked.

He ignored his brother, pulling out a blue pen and an old pad of motel stationary. Frowning in concentration, he laid the pad against the dashboard and started drawing.

"Sam," Dean barked, more insistent this time.

A triangle began to take form on the pad, with a large opaque rectangle underneath it. Blue Ridge, Sam wrote in the rectangle.

"Sam, what the hell?" Dean exploded, beyond annoyed at this point.

"I saw this logo on a bus," Sam explained, frowning at the pad in his hand. "If we can find out where this bus line runs…"

"So you saw a bus," Dean interrupted.

Sam frowned at Dean instead of the stationary. "Yeah."

"That's it?" Dean snapped. "You saw a bus?"

Sam blinked up at him. "Of course not."

"Then what the hell did you see?"

He was putting it off, he realized then. He didn't want to say it. But he had to, if he expected any of them to go along with him on this latest, vision-induced, wild goose chase. Sam took a deep breath, laid the pad of paper down in his lap, and began to recite the contents of his vision for the benefit of his suffocating audience – the man on the cobblestoned sidewalk, the phone call, the hardware store, the gunshots – one for Dennis, and one for Doc.

When he finished repeating what he'd seen, the other three hunters didn't comment right away. Mostly, they stood around the gas pump and stared at him. Lynn worried her lower lip with her teeth, Dean looked pissed as usual, and Jayne gave him a blank expression.

Jayne was also the first to speak or act. "All right then," she said after a few moments of silence. "Sounds like we better get on the road."

"First we have to figure out where this is going to happen," Sam pointed out.

"Obviously," Jayne replied dryly. "So power up your computer and find out where that bus line operates."

Sam hesitated. He opened his mouth to respond, and then closed it almost immediately. Deep in his gut, he knew nobody was going to like what he wanted to suggest.

"Sam?" Lynn asked quietly, watching him with a deep, scrutinizing frown on her face. "What is it?"

He paused a moment, avoiding everyone's eyes by keeping his own fixed on the pavement beneath his feet. "I was just thinking," he murmured hesitatingly. "You know who could get us where we need to be in no time?"

Jayne raised an eyebrow at him, shifting her weight from one long leg to the other. "Who?" she asked bluntly.

A sheepish half smile tugged at the corners of Sam's mouth, and he offered the other three hunters a wincing, apologetic look. "Ash," he said.

More silent gawking ensued after that, but unfortunately for Sam, it didn't last very long. "Ash?" Dean repeated incredulously.

"Well… yeah," Sam retorted, starting to get defensive about the whole thing.

"You want to go to the Roadhouse," Dean practically spat. "Again?"

"What's wrong with the Roadhouse?"

"What's wrong with the…" Dean trailed off, shaking his head disbelievingly and throwing his hands out in either anger or helplessness… or maybe both. "It's more than half a day's drive from here and it's in the opposite freaking direction!"

"The opposite direction of what, Dean?" Sam challenged him.

Dean gawked at him. "The… the opposite direction from… from the direction we've been driving!"

"Look, what I saw is going to happen, Dean!" Sam exploded. "And that means we have to at least try to stop it! Whatever ghost hunt we were thinking about checking out is officially backburner-ed until we figure out this vision! So I say we head out to the Roadhouse and get Ash's help."

There was a brief silence. Then Lynn cleared her throat and pulled her weight off the open car door. "All right," she announced. "Roadhouse it is. Let's get going."

Sam blinked, surprised, and then smiled in spite of himself. Dean and Jayne both gaped at Lynn in shock and annoyance.

"Seriously?"Dean asked.

Lynn shrugged, giving him a look that dared him to argue with her. Dean didn't take the dare.

Jayne didn't look happy either, but she didn't yell or argue. She pushed herself off the gas pump. "Fine. Let's get going, already," she grumbled.

Then she stepped around the corner of the pump, disappearing from view. Sam heard the truck door slam, and then the engine turn over. Lynn offered him an encouraging smile, and then headed off for the truck too.

Dean clambered back into the driver's seat, looking every bit as pissed as he had before. Sam didn't bother asking him to repeat his annoyed, unintelligible muttering. He just let Dean be pissed, driving too fast down the road, and then erratically merging onto the highway.

He didn't need Dean to be happy to know he was right about this.


Lynn waited a full five minutes after getting back on the highway before turning towards her sister and announcing, "I'm calling Steve."

Jayne's fingers visibly tightened on the steering wheel, and then she leveled her sister with an incredulous, seriously annoyed glower. "What?"

Lynn ignored her reaction and pulled out her cell phone, scrolling down to her brother's name in her address book. "Sam had a vision," she reasoned. "Sam's visions are always about the demon, or some other twenty-something just like him. Which means this is family business, and as our family, Steve has a right to be in on this. I'm telling him to meet us at the Roadhouse."

Her sister didn't like that idea. Lynn could tell by the way she sucked her cheek into her mouth and glowered at the road. "Yeah, the Roadhouse," Jayne grumbled. "Great place for us to be right about now, isn't it?"

Lynn frowned at her. "What do you mean?"

"It's a gathering place for hunters," Jayne pointed out. "You and Sam seem to think Ash has all the answers, or whatever, but Ash is in the middle of a place full of people who wouldn't like the idea of Sam having visions about demons, or Steve mentally lighting shit on fire."

Well, she had a point there. Lynn's fingers hesitated over the call button on her cell. Personally, she didn't think Ash or Ellen or Jo would want to hurt Sam or Steve. They seemed more liberal-minded, more willing to rationally evaluate a situation before charging in, guns blazing. But the same probably couldn't be said about Ellen's patrons.

"Then I guess we just won't tell anybody about Sam and Steve," Lynn said after a beat.

Jayne grumbled something, not looking any happier about the situation. Lynn rolled her eyes and decided she didn't care. Steve deserved to be in the know.

"You know, I don't get it," she spoke up. "You and Dean really seem to hate that place."

"Not true."

"Hey, I understand how you roll – we don't make friends, blah, blah, blah. Except, we did make friends, and their names were Sam and Dean Winchester. And I think that turned out all right, didn't it? So what's wrong with Ash and the Harvelles?"

Jayne sighed harshly and shook her head. "As far as I can tell? Nothing."

"So what's your deal?"

"Exactly that – we know nothing about them."

Lynn frowned down at her phone and sighed. "Ok, I hear you there. I'm not saying we fess up all our dark, dirty secrets to them. We need time to establish trust or whatever, but… I just don't think they're so bad. They don't give me that creepy Gordon Walker vibe, you know? And we can always use more friends, and I think they could be great ones."

Jayne didn't offer an answer, but Lynn saw her grip on the steering wheel relax ever so slightly. She smirked a little, and then returned to her phone.

She was calling Steve, and they were meeting up at the Roadhouse, whether Jayne liked it or not.


It was dark out now, and the closer they got to the Roadhouse, the closer the scrub-brush got to the sides of the deserted highway. The trees and the dark night sky were pressing in on the Impala from all sides, and it felt like an omen of impending doom, rather than a normal drive down a dark, rural road. The feeling did not make Dean any happier about his current situation, nor did the obnoxious radio DJ coming through his stereo system, talking about playing classic rock instead of actually playing it.

Sam hung up his cell phone and frowned down at some papers in his lap. "Lynn called Steve," he announced. "He's meeting us there."

"At the Roadhouse?" Dean exploded.

Sam turned the frown on him instead. "Yeah…"

"Great, what is this? A reunion? Hope Ellen's got extra chairs."

"I had a vision, Dean. You know this could be connected to the demon. It makes sense that they called him."

"Yeah, well, Steve isn't exactly my problem with the plan," Dean grumbled. Sam frowned at him and opened his mouth to speak again, but Dean cut him off. "I don't know, man. Why don't we just chill out? Think about this?"

Sam snapped off the radio, and Dean resisted the urge to kill him, right then and there. "What's there to think about?" he demanded.

"I just don't know if going to the Roadhouse is the smartest idea."

"Dean, it's another premonition. I know it. This is going to happen, and Ash can help us figure out where."

"Yeah, man, but…"

"Plus it could have some connection to the demon! My visions always do!"

"That's exactly my point!" Dean exclaimed, and it baffled him to no end that he even had to explain this to his brother. Sam needed a better sense of self-preservation. "There's going to be hunters there. I don't know if waltzing in and announcing that you're some kind of supernatural freak with a demonic connection is the best thing, ok?"

His outburst wasn't entirely thought through, and Dean realized his mistake almost immediately when Sam's indignant expression faded away to something that looked more hurt than anything else. "So I'm a freak, now?" he asked.

Dean forced himself to smirk and smack his brother on the knee. "You've always been a freak."

Sam did not look comforted, and Dean did not feel one jot better about any single part of this plan. Still, they both lapsed into silence for the remainder of the drive, arriving at the roadhouse during the late night, early morning rush.

The sign was lit up and blinking at them and Dean could hear old classic rock tunes blaring on the jukebox inside. Their gravel lot was packed with aging, rusty old muscle cars and pickup trucks. Down at the end of the lot, in the corner farthest from the tavern, was Stephen Juarez's bright orange 1970 Roadrunner Superbird.

Dean cringed. "Guess Steve's here," he announced, swinging the Impala into one of the only available spaces left, also some distance from the building. "Fantastic."

Sam just rolled his eyes. The moment Dean stopped the car, Sam jumped out and made a beeline for the Roadhouse's front doors.

Dean was slower about climbing out of the Impala and making his way across the dusty gravel lot. Jayne wheeled her truck off the gravel and parked it in the grass, having given up on finding an actual space. Dean waited on the two of them to climb down from the cab and join him by his car.

"Sam, would you slow down?" Lynn called after the younger Winchester, who was several paces ahead of them. Dean rolled his eyes when Sam glanced at them over his shoulder and reluctantly came to a stop by the bumper of a busted Ford truck, practically hopping up and down where he stood.

"Jesus," Lynn hissed, shaking her head. "He's like an overanxious puppy."

Dean allowed himself a smirk, following behind Lynn as she marched towards Sam. He fell into step beside Jayne out of habit and gave her a small nod.

She nodded back. "For the record," she drawled quietly, glancing at Lynn. "I don't think this is a good idea."

Dean smirked again. "Then I guess we're on the same page."

She nodded again, and they fell silent. Things between them were weird now, to say the least. It wasn't the sex – things had been fine when they just had to contend with the sex. It was the stuff that came after the sex that proved to be the problem – the emotional, confessional, share-circle stuff that had left them both feeling more vulnerable than they were comfortable with. And so, Dean concluded with a vague sense of annoyance directed at both himself and Jayne, they had fallen into their usual pattern of pretending nothing had ever happened.

The moment the three of them reached Sam, he took off like a rocket once again, and they practically had to jog to keep up with him. He was the first to burst into the dark, smoky roadhouse, and he was the first to spot Jo standing beside the deer-hunting arcade game in the corner. She was not alone. Playing on the arcade game beside her was a fairly short, wiry young man, with tanned skin, a shaven head, a black goatee, and a pair of diamonds in his ears.

"There's Steve," Lynn announced, gesturing at the pair of them. Jayne rolled her eyes, and Dean raised his eyebrow. Sam was already walking towards the two of them, and the other three fell in line just behind him. As they drew nearer, Dean could hear Steve and Jo talking.

"I feel kind of bad, taking your money like this," Steve was saying, holding the rifle mounted onto the game and shooting at the video generated deer. He was taking them out, one at a time, kicking the game's ass. "I mean… I've kind of had a lot of practice at this."

Dean rolled his eyes at the kid's back. Jo was leaning on the side of the machine, a rag tossed over her shoulder, and raising her eyebrow at Steve. "Uh-huh," she replied, sounding unimpressed.

Steve shot the final deer, and an impressively high score lit up on the screen. "Your turn," Steve smirked at her, stepping aside.

Jo didn't dignify the smirk with an answer, or even a look. She simply stepped up to the gun, grabbed hold of it, and started smoking every last deer that popped up on the videogame screen. Steve's mouth fell open as he watched her blow his score out of the water, and Dean couldn't help snorting in amusement.

The game ended, and the screen announced Jo as the winner. She smirked brightly at Steve, who was still staring at her with his mouth hanging open, and then she held out her hand.

Steve rolled his eyes and plopped a stack of twenties into her waiting palm. "You just let me walk right into that," he accused her.

"Life's a bitch," she retorted in a voice dripping with sarcasm, still wearing her bright, mocking smirk. Then she turned around to observe the four hunters watching their exchange, and the mockery faded into a sincere smile. "Just couldn't stay away, huh?" she greeted them.

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, looks like," he replied. "How you doing, Jo?"

"Where's Ash?" Sam demanded.

"In his back room," Jo replied, looking taken aback and a little annoyed.

"Great," Sam replied, and then he vanished in the direction of Ash's room.

"And I'm fine!" Jo snarked after him.

"Sorry, he's… we're kind of on a bit a timetable," Dean tried to explain away his brother's behavior. Jo just raised her eyebrow at him.

"Also sorry about my brother," Lynn spoke up. "He's kind of a douche."

Steve stepped away from the deer hunting game. Jo delivered another smirk in his direction. "So you're Lynn and Jayne's brother?" she asked. "Huh. Would have thought you'd be a better shot."

Dean bit back a chuckle. Steve sneered at her, and then looked over at Lynn. "Don't know why you're apologizing to her," he said. "She's the one with all my money."

"Well, glad you two finally met," Jayne drawled sarcastically. "Nice to see you, Jo."

Then she grabbed her brother by the arm and steered him in the direction of Ash's room. Lynn rolled her eyes, said a hasty see-ya to Jo, and then followed after them. Dean was left alone in Jo's company, and the pretty, petite blonde lifted her eyebrows almost expectantly at him.

Dean managed not to look into her big brown doe eyes, and gave her a short nod before brushing past her after the other four hunters. He could feel Jo watching him, but he tried to shove it off, tried to ignore it…

He didn't want to be at the Roadhouse at all right now. End of story.

Dean found Sam standing in the long, bare white hallway behind the front of the tavern, knocking on a heavy wooden door. The music from the bar could still be heard, echoing down the corridor, and the sound of a television was coming from Ash's room. Lynn and Jayne dragged Steve down to where Sam stood, and when Dean joined them at the door, he found a large wooden plaque tacked to it reading "Dr. Badass Is:" Hanging from a nail just beneath it was a smaller sign that said, "In."

"Ash!" Sam called, pounding on the door again. "Hey, Ash?"

Nobody answered. Sam sent Dean a pained, irritated expression. Dean walked right up to the door and knocked. "Hey, Dr. Badass!" he hollered.

Dean heard the slide of a lock and gave his brother a smirk. Sam rolled his eyes. Then the door swung open, and Ash appeared in the small crack of the doorway.

He was completely naked.

Horrified, Dean immediately looked away. Sam likewise averted his eyes. Lynn gasped, her hand going over her face, and Jayne slowly shut her eyes, wearing a pained expression very similar to the one Sam had been wearing only moments ago. "Sam," Ash greeted them. "Dean. Sam and Dean. Jayne and Lynn. New guy I haven't met yet." He sniffed loudly, and offered Steve a smirk that did nothing to better the situation. "Howdy."

Steve crinkled his nose, his eyes focused on the ceiling. Then the younger, shorter man dared an incredulous glance at Jayne. "Where the hell are we right now?" he demanded.

"My worst nightmare," Jayne returned, straight-faced.

"Jayne," Ash nodded at her again. His eyes roved her up and down, assessing her curves, and then he exhaled harshly. "You look good."

"Ash," she replied, offering him a nod of her own. "You look naked."

He winked. "Like what you see?"

"Ok," Dean cut in. He opted for a smirk in Ash's direction, but it felt tight on his face, and he knew he looked threatening. So much for pretending nothing had ever happened. "That's enough of that."

Sam forced himself to look at Ash, wearing an expression that suggested he was in physical pain. "Ash," he said "We need your help."

"Well, hell then," Ash replied brightly. "I guess I need my pants."

Then he ducked back inside the room and shut the door. "Dude, for the record?" Steve hollered after him. "You always need your pants!"

Jayne rolled her eyes and grabbed Steve's arm again, yanking him back towards the bar. "Shut up," she commanded.

"Was that weirdo hitting on you?"

"Shut up means stop talking."

Dean shook his head, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth as he watched Jayne haul her brother around the corner, the two of them still arguing between themselves. Lynn rolled her eyes and took off after them. Sam was watching them with his eyebrows raised, and the two of them fell into step beside one another, headed back for the bar.

"Wow," Sam commented.

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "This is going to be interesting."


It didn't take long for Ash to throw on some clothes and meet the rest of them out in the bar. Jayne raised her eyebrow at the pale, skinny man as he slid into a chair across the table from her and set up his laptop. Sam sat on her left, on the edge of his seat, watching Ash impatiently, and Dean leaned on the wall behind Ash's newly occupied chair, nursing a beer.

Jayne took a gulp from her own dark glass beer bottle and glanced at Lynn. Lynn was on her right, and Steve was squeezed in beside her. Both of them were drinking. Lynn looked anxious; Steve looked bored. Jo, on the other hand, looked overly eager to know what was going on at their table. Jayne could see her lurking around by the bar, pretending to wipe things up and straining her ears to catch pieces of their conversation. She glared at the other blonde, and Jo had the nerve to send her back a bright, shit-eating smile.

She couldn't decide if she hated the girl, or would have really liked her under different circumstances. As it stood, however, Jayne wished she would just disappear.

Ash's fingers were flying over the keyboard, his eyes darting between the logo from Sam's vision to the laptop screen.

"Anything?" Sam demanded after a moment.

"Hold your horses, compadre," Ash replied smoothly, not even looking in Sam's direction. "I just fired her up. Give me a moment."

Sam looked further vexed by the reply, and grabbed his beer with his good hand, tipping the contents of the bottle down his throat. Jayne rolled her eyes and drank again. She was drinking too fast, and she was already having thoughts about another one.

This might just be one of those nights.

"Question," Steve spoke up, leaning his chair back and balancing on the two rear legs. "Why do we need Senor No-Pants over here to look up this logo or whatever? It's called the Google search engine. Are we all computer illiterate now?"

"Compared to Ash?" Lynn retorted, snorting. "Yeah, we are."

"Just can it, will you?" Dean barked at the two of them.

Steve narrowed his eyes in Dean's direction and opened his mouth to say something smart. Jayne kicked him under the table.

"Hey!" he protested.

"Don't do it," she told him.

Her brother fell silent, but kept on fuming. Jayne rolled her eyes again, and concentrated on her beer.

"Well, I got a match," Ash spoke up suddenly. Five sets of eyes immediately zeroed in on the scruffy, redneck computer genius. "It's the logo for the Blue Ridge Bus Lines… in Guthrie, Oklahoma."

"All right," Sam murmured, sitting up a little straighter. "Do me a favor. Check Guthrie for any demonic signs, or omens, or anything like that."

Ash frowned slightly, his voice taking on a calculatingly mild, inquisitive tone. "You think the demon's there?"

Jayne narrowed her eyes at him. Sam paused, and then delivered a non-informative, "Yeah. Maybe."

Ash's eyes might have been fixed on his computer screen, but he wasn't fooling her. He wanted to know exactly why the five of them were at the Roadhouse, asking for his help. "Why would you think that?" he asked.

"Just check it, all right?" Dean snapped.

Ash did as he was told, and the computer let out a few beeping noises. "No sir," he announced. "Nothing. No demon."

Sam hesitated, and Jayne's fingers tightened on her now mostly empty beer bottle. Dean shot his little brother a no-nonsense, don't-you-dare-do-it type of look. Sam did it anyway.

"Ok, check something else for me," he said. "Search Guthrie for a house fire. It would be 1983 – the fire's origin would be a baby's nursery, night of the kid's six month birthday."

Ash stared at him for a moment, his face screwed up incredulously. "Ok, that is just weird, man. Why the hell would I be looking for that?"

There was a long pause. Jayne shook her head slightly, staring down the neck of her beer bottle. Dean looked pissed, but then he always looked pissed lately.

Sam grabbed the lone unopened beer on the table and slammed it down in front of Ash. "Because there's a PBR in it for you."

"Give me fifteen minutes."

Steve raised his eyebrows and scoffed. "Seriously? That's like a three-dollar beer."

"Shut up," Jayne snapped at him.

Ash ignored her brother's commentary and focused on completing Sam's request. It was getting a little too silent at the table, and eventually Dean rolled his eyes, shoved himself off the wall, and muttered something that sounded a lot like, "Fuck this," before sauntering off to the bar and taking a seat by himself at the counter. Jayne watched him storm off, and then rolled her eyes too, gulping down her beer.

Her brother's eyes strayed in the direction of Jo's ass, made prominent due to Jo bending over behind the bar, right in front of Dean. Jayne wasn't the least bit surprised when Steve got to his feet and headed for the bar, wearing the sort of smirk no sister wanted to witness on her brother's face.

She caught Lynn's eye, feeling her face twist into a pained expression. "Ew," Lynn agreed.

"What?" Ash asked throatily, not looking up from the laptop.

"Nothing," Jayne informed him.

It was stupid to be jealous of Jo, because it didn't really matter if she thought Dean was hot – it didn't even matter if Dean thought she was hot back. Jayne was the one who was sleeping with him.

Except she wasn't, not really. One time in his car almost a week ago did not really count as 'sleeping with him.' They hadn't had a repeat performance; they hadn't spoken about it. Hell, they barely spoke at all lately, and Jayne would bet that had a good deal to do with the discussion they'd had back in Kansas. She shouldn't have brought up John; she shouldn't have picked at the scab.

It was too late now, though. She'd made her bed and now she had to lie in it. Jayne thought she ought to regret it, but she found she didn't. Quite frankly, she was less annoyed at herself and more convinced that Dean was being a big baby.

She kind of wanted to get up and tell him so.

"You sure none of you want to give me the skinny on why I'm looking up this weird shit?" Ash drawled, glancing up at the three of them very briefly, and then redirecting his frown to the computer screen.

Sam took a deep breath, hesitating. Lynn glanced nervously down at her lap, lacing her fingers together around her beer bottle.

"Positive," Jayne drawled back, putting her bottle down on the table with a loud clunk!

Ash chuckled, and shook his head. "Right, of course not."

He looked moderately displeased with them, but Jayne honestly didn't give a shit. Sam and Lynn looked like they might, though. Their eyes were directed at the tabletop, and both of them were looking guilty and nervous. Jayne rolled her eyes again.

Where was their good judgment, exactly? She knew they weren't this dumb. They didn't know Ash from Adam – although she was pretty sure Adam didn't sport a mullet, or button-down shirts with ripped-off sleeves. Besides, it wasn't just Ash they had to worry about, or even the Harvelles. There were other hunters there, spread out around the bar, and if they overheard the details of Sam's visions, or his connection to the demon – or Steve's connection to the demon…

"Be right back," Jayne grunted rather suddenly at the other three, and then she walked away from the table, headed in the direction of the bar. She could feel their eyes on her back, but she didn't pay them any attention – she couldn't make herself care.

Dean was still sitting on a barstool, nursing his drink, and Steve had apparently given up on Jo. She had moved out from behind the counter now, and was pulling empty glasses from a vacated table in the corner. Steve, however, was walking back towards Ash's table, and Jayne met him halfway.

"Get rejected?" she asked, raising her eyebrow.

Steve shrugged, taking a swig of his beer. "Win some, lose some. Guess I can't compete with Dean Winchester. Sucks to be the short guy."

Jayne snorted, and shook her head. "Oh, well," she replied. "We just met these people anyway. Last thing I need is you messing with Jo, and getting Ellen to toss us all out of here on our asses."

Steve nodded, screwing his face up in mock thought. "Yeah, she scares me a little," he admitted. Then he smirked, glanced at Jayne's empty bottle, and then frowned at the table she'd just left. "What's the deal?" he asked.

She frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

"You look pissed tonight. Not just about Sam's visions and shit, or even just pissed at me. You look like… I don't know."

"I'm fine," Jayne retorted through gritted teeth. She shoved her empty beer bottle against Steve's chest and he took it from her automatically. "Here," she grunted.

"What are you giving this to me for?"

She didn't bother to answer him, turning instead to walk away. Steve muttered something under his breath, but she didn't pay him any attention. She simply sauntered over to the bar and slid onto the vacant stool next to Dean's. He looked up from his beer glass and turned towards her, raising his eyebrow.

"Ash is still looking," she replied to his unanswered question.

Dean snorted and looked down into his beer again. "He still asking questions too?"

Jayne nodded. "Yep."

Dean shook his head. "Told Sam this was a bad idea."

"He can keep asking all he wants," Jayne countered. "It's not like we're going to tell him anything."

"Yeah, but it's out there now," Dean retorted. "They're going to get suspicious. You really want Ash or Ellen or one of the hunters in here finding out about…"

He trailed off and glanced around the bar. Jayne followed suit. The place had gone from crowded and lively to deserted and quiet in a matter of minutes. Dean must have decided they were safe and no one could overhear them – although Jayne disagreed, due to the way Jo was still lurking in that corner by the jukebox, sending them sidelong glances. Even Ellen, who was a considerable distance away and seemingly preoccupied with wiping down glasses, had angled herself towards them, watching without actually looking at them. "About Steve?" he finished in a low voice, leaning in so close that his breath tickled her ear. "About Sam?"

"Of course not," she retorted, gritting her teeth and leaning in just as close to him. Their heads were separated by mere inches of air, and she fought down the somersaults her stomach was attempting to perform. "But what can they do as long as we say nothing?"

Dean did not look appeased by this argument. His hand tightened visibly on his beer, and he glanced back at Ash. Sam, Lynn and Steve were still sitting around the table with the computer hacker, watching him as his fingers flew across the keys. "What if he finds something?" Dean asked. "He finds everything else."

Jayne found herself without an argument. She opened her mouth, thought up nothing to say, and closed it again. Dean stared at her, and she stared unseeingly at a spot on his chest, trying not to grant his idea any validity.

Then the jukebox started playing the opening notes of an all too familiar, completely ridiculous song. Jayne frowned, and Dean's eyes widened in what could only be described as horror. A quick glance towards the jukebox revealed Jo to be the culprit.

I can't fight this feeling any longer…

"You've got to be kidding me," Jayne breathed.

And yet I'm still afraid to let it flow…

Dean looked at Jo, who was sauntering away from the jukebox now, a tray loaded down with dirty glasses in her hands. She set the tray down on the counter and looked at the pair of them, her hand on her hip. "What?" she demanded.

What started out as friendship has grown stronger… I only wish I had the strength to let it show…

"REO Speedwagon?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Damn right, REO," Jo retorted. "Kevin Cronin sings it from the heart."

"No, he sings it from the hair," Dean quipped. "There's a difference."

"And I'm out," Jayne drawled, getting off the stool. Dean looked up at her in surprise, but Jo didn't seem all that heartbroken about her announcement. "Seriously, out."

She turned her back on both of them and headed back to the table where Ash had set up camp. There was no way she could do it. She could not sit with Dean, pretend that nothing had ever happened between them and watch him flirt with Jo, and she especially could not do it with REO Speedwagon playing in the background.

It was official; she kind of hated the Roadhouse.


Dean didn't know what he had expected once the jukebox started playing REO Speedwagon, but Jo sauntering over to him and Jayne making a quick exit hadn't really crossed his mind. Still, Jayne had bailed the moment he and Jo had begun trading hair-metal jibes, and now Dean found himself alone with Jo, trying not to stare as she leaned on the counter and flipped her wavy blonde hair over her shoulder.

He took a drink from his beer. Jo glanced over her shoulder at her mother, who was behind the bar, still messing with the glasses. "That profile you've got Ash looking for," Jo murmured. "Your mother died the same way, didn't she? A fire in Sam's nursery?"

More questions, of course. This had been exactly what Dean had wanted to avoid. He forced out a half-smile for her and said, "Look, Jo, it's kind of a family thing."

Again, she glanced over her shoulder at Ellen, and Dean had to wonder why. "I could help," she told him. Her eagerness was overwhelming, and Dean had to fight back the urge to wince.

"I'm sure you could," he allowed. "But we have to take care of this one ourselves."

Jo didn't look convinced. She glanced towards Ash's table, and then tilted her chin determinedly. "Jayne and Lynn aren't family," she pointed out. "Steve isn't family."

"That's different."

"Why?"

She might have formed the word 'why,' with her pouty pink lips, but it was crystal clear by her tone that Jo meant 'bull shit.' Dean swallowed, torn between appreciation for Jo's tenacity and frustration that she was cutting in on things she couldn't understand. He could have delivered some awkward, heartwarming sentiment about how Jayne and Lynn were family, even if they weren't blood – and he couldn't deny that the sentiment would have been truth – but it also would have been sentiment, and Dean didn't have a lot of patience for that lately.

"It's their fight too," he said simply.

Jo narrowed her eyes. "It could be everyone's fight," she retorted. "That profile Sam has Ash running – it makes it sound like there are other people affected by the demon…"

"Jo," he snapped. "I said we had to take care of it ourselves. All right? Let it go."

She blinked. Dean forced out another smirk, trying to recover. "Besides, if I ran off with you, your mother might kill me."

Ellen looked up from the counter at that, almost as if she'd heard him, and frowned in their direction. Dean smiled painfully at her, and Ellen continued frowning at him, looking suspicious. Slowly, she lowered her eyes again.

Jo's hurt look faded into an amused smirk. "You're afraid of my mother?"

"I think so."

She ducked her head and laughed. Dean couldn't stop a genuine smile from spreading out across his face. Then Sam appeared with a stack of papers in his hand, and ruined the moment.

"We have a match," he said. "We got to go."

Then Sam turned and ran for the exit. Dean glanced at Jo, who had a rueful smile playing on her lips. "Bye Jo," he told her. "I'll see you later."

Then he grabbed his coat off the nearby chair and followed Sam out the door.


Lynn sighed heavily as she stepped outside into the cool night air. The gravel lot in front of the Harvelle Roadhouse was now deserted, although her sister's truck was still parked in the grass, Dean's Impala was still parked in the lot nearby, and her brother's Superbird still sat in its shady corner. The night was clear, and the stars were out, but she was starting to drag. It had been a long day on the road, and the night didn't look like it was going to be any shorter.

The gravel crunched under her boots as she strode purposefully for the truck, her sister walking on her left side and her brother keeping pace on the other. "So who is this guy we found in Guthrie?" Steve wanted to know.

"His name is Andrew Gallagher," Lynn replied. "And we didn't exactly find him."

Jayne frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Lynn sighed. "That he has no current address or place of employment. All we found was a trail of unpaid bills."

Her sister continued frowning at her. "So… we're looking for a homeless guy?"

Lynn rolled her eyes in annoyance. Steve smirked. "Hey, something we have in common, right?" he quipped.

"Steve!" Lynn sputtered at him. "We are not homeless!"

"Sure we are," he returned smoothly. "No current address or place of employment? Just us and the cars and the road… yeah, we're homeless."

She narrowed her eyes at him, and he gave her a bright smile. "Shut up," she said.

They continued their walk across the dark gravel lot and came to a collective stop at the side of Jayne's rusty gray truck. Jayne was still frowning, and now she leaned against the truck bed and fixed Lynn with a pair of searching eyes.

"And why are we looking for this homeless guy?" she asked.

Lynn shrugged. "Sam seems to think his vision, or whatever… well, you know. His visions are always about the demon, or about people like him, and…"

"And this Andrew Gallagher guy was born in '83, and lost his mother in a nursery fire on his six month birthday?" Jayne supplied.

Lynn heaved a sigh. "Exactly."

"So, what?" Steve asked, leaning his hip against the truck's front bumper and kicking at some loose dirt. "We just assume people like Sam… people like me…"

She winced at her brother's comment. He kept going. "We're all just killers, waiting to be unleashed, and now it's Andrew Gallagher's turn?"

"No," Lynn replied fiercely, staring her brother straight in the eye. "We do not just assume that. OK? But in this case… Sam had that vision for a reason, all right? Let's just… let's just stop with all the speculating until we get to Guthrie and get a better handle on everything that's going on? All right?"

"Sounds like a plan to me," Jayne agreed immediately.

Steve shrugged, casting his eyes on the ground. "Yeah, all right," he murmured. Lynn studied him critically, and he shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. He didn't look happy; he didn't look at ease. He looked moody and weird and… worried. In short, he did not look like Steve. He looked a little like Sam, but not like Steve.

"Are you ok?" she asked.

"Peachy," he returned shortly, and then lifted his eyes from the ground. Lynn continued to frown at him, but Steve gave her another wide, mocking smile. "Let's get on the road."

Then he turned his back on his sisters and marched towards the Bird, parked just a little ways down the lot. Lynn watched him, her lower lip caught between her teeth, as he walked across the lot, kicking at the gravel. She didn't look away until he'd reached his car and swung open the driver's side door.

"We should get going," Jayne spoke up, just as Steve climbed into his car. Lynn shook her head and turned to face her sister.

"Right," she murmured, squeezing out a sheepish smile. "Let's go."

They both got into the truck, Jayne taking the wheel once again. Lynn didn't say anything at first. She sat in silence as her sister started up the engine and followed the Impala back to the highway. Her brother's car appeared in the rearview mirror, following them as well, and she heaved a sigh of relief.

Jayne glanced at her out the corner of her eye but offered nothing in the way of conversation. They continued on the road in silence for a moment, until Lynn simply couldn't stand it any longer.

"You know, we really haven't seen him a long time," she voiced.

Her sister shrugged, eyes on the road. "What else is new?"

"This is different," Lynn countered. "He's been in touch. He hasn't been hiding. It's just… after what happened in South Dakota, at the hospital… I guess I'd just hoped he'd be around more, you know?"

"Well, he's here now," Jayne pointed out. She looked uncomfortable, like she didn't want to be discussing their brother right then. Lynn didn't care about that, though, and kept right on going.

"Right… because we called him. Because Sam had a vision, and there's a hunt involved, and it might have something to do with the demon we all want to kill. I don't know… is it too much to ask for a normal family gathering?"

"Considering who we are?" Jayne retorted. "Yeah, kind of."

Lynn rolled her eyes. "I know we're not a normal family, Jayne. But sometimes I don't feel like a family at all. Sometimes I feel like we're business partners or something. We only get together when there's a problem… when there's a job. It shouldn't be this way."

Her sister didn't reply right away. She simply stared at the road, clutching the steering wheel just a little too hard. Lynn watched her for awhile, and then she sighed, lowering her eyes to the matted, dirty carpet on the cab floor.

"You should tell him that," Jayne spoke up suddenly.

Lynn whipped her head back up and gawked at her. "What?"

"You should tell him that," she repeated. "Let Steve know this shit isn't going to fly with you."

"With us."

"Sure, whatever."

"Will you say something?"

Jayne shifted uncomfortably in the seat, still keeping her eyes on the road. Lynn watched her expectantly, although she had a feeling that she already knew what her sister was going to say.

"It's not really my thing," Jayne said at last. "This is your stuff."

"You don't feel the same way?"

There was another long pause. "I don't know," Jayne shrugged. "Maybe. A little."

"Then we should both say something."

Jayne had no reply for that, and Lynn rolled her eyes, flopping back against the seat. They fell silent again, and Lynn kept her eyes trained on the passing trees and scrub brush outside the passenger window.

She loved Jayne and Steve with all her heart, but sometimes she really wanted to strangle them both.


Sam squinted at the papers in his hand as the Impala sped down the dark, empty highway in the direction of Guthrie, Oklahoma, leaving the Roadhouse miles behind them. The truck followed close behind, its headlights cutting through the rear windshield and shedding light on the words he was trying to read. A quick glance in the side mirror revealed the front end of Stephen Juarez's bright orange muscle car riding the truck's back bumper.

Sighing, Sam shook his head and tried to focus on his papers again. Dean was thumping his hand against the steering wheel to the beat of a song only he could hear, and Sam was finding it incredibly distracting. Rolling his eyes, Sam tucked his first paper behind the others and squinted down at the second page.

"And even as I wander, I'm keeping you in sight… you're a candle in the window on a cold, dark winter's night…"

Sam frowned, looking up incredulously at his brother, who had, for some unknown reason, burst into song. Dean didn't seem to notice him at all – his eyes were on the road, and his head was bobbing along to the words.

"And I'm getting closer than I ever thought I might…"

"You're kidding, right?" Sam demanded, interrupting before his brother could get to the 'I can't fight this feeling anymore,' part. It was a serious relief.

Dean glanced at him, and then shrugged, trying not to look embarrassed. He failed. "I heard the song somewhere; I can't get it out of my head… I don't know, man." He nodded at the papers in Sam's lap. "What have you got?"

Sam sighed and shook his head, returning his focus to the papers. "Andrew Gallagher," he announced. "Born in '83… like me. Lost his mother in a nursery fire exactly six months later… also like me."

Dean raised his eyebrow. "You think the demon killed his mom?"

Sam shrugged."It sure looks like it."

"How'd you even know to look for this guy?"

It wasn't the most intelligent of questions. Sam shook his head slowly, focusing his gaze on the dashboard. Couldn't Dean see the signs?

"Every premonition I've had," he explained. "If they're not about the demon, they're about other kids the demon visited. Like Max Miller. Remember him?"

Dean kept his eyes on the road, and a small, not entirely sincere chuckle escaped his throat. "Yeah, but Max Miller was a pasty little psycho."

Sam pursed his lips and idly shuffled the papers in his lap. "Remember Landon Creevey?"

His brother snorted. "Landon Creevey?" he scoffed. "He doesn't count. There was no fire in his nursery, his mother's still alive…"

"Yeah, I know," Sam interrupted. "But he was my age, Dean. Born in '83. He had a psychic ability, and he was using it to hurt people… and that ability? It didn't work on me. We can't pretend that didn't happen, ok? He could have been one of the demon's special kids, or whatever."

Dean shrugged, sucking his cheek in and looking moody. "Yeah, not buying it."

Sam sighed and shook his head. "The point is, they were both killing people, and I was having visions about it. And now it could be happening all over again, with this Gallagher guy."

His brother was still focused on the road. "How do we find him?" he practically barked.

Sam shrugged, turning desolate as he stared down at the little bit of info Ash had managed to glean about Andrew Gallagher. "I don't know," he admitted. "No current address, no current employment… still owes money on all his bills… phone, credit, utilities…"

"No collection agency flags?" Dean demanded.

"He's not in the system."

His brother gave him an incredulous look. "They just let him take a walk?"

Sam raised his eyebrows at the paperwork. "Seems like it."

They fell silent for a moment, Dean frowning at the road again. "There's a work address from his last W2," Sam announced. "From about a year ago. Let's start there."

Dean nodded silently. Sam put his papers aside and leaned back tiredly in his chair. The Impala continued eating up the road, pressing forward through the dark, and neither Sam nor Dean spoke another word for quite a few miles.

They were both too worried about what they would face when they finally found Andrew Gallagher.


Dean's shoulders were tense and knotted underneath the itchy, too warm suit jacket Sam had forced him to wear. He glowered at the road in front of him as he steered his car towards the greasy spoon of a diner where Andrew Gallagher had last worked.

He was not tired and cranky because of the long, nighttime ride from Mullen to Guthrie. He was not tense and annoyed because Sam kept bringing up the demon and trying to paint his psychic ability as a ticking time bomb – like Sam honestly thought that one day he'd go from visions to murder. Over night. Which was, of course, complete crap.

No, Dean was pissed off because of the squirrely young kid in his backseat.

Steve Juarez would not sit still, and his constant shuffling around in the backseat was even starting to grate on Sam's nerves. Dean could tell by the way Sam kept raising his eyebrow and shooting incredulous, mildly annoyed glances over his shoulder.

While his younger brother sat silently in the passenger seat, giving Steve the eyebrow, Dean refused to turn around or acknowledge the kid at all. In an ideal world, the kid would be back at the motel with his sisters, who had agreed to stay behind and continue researching the town in hopes of finding the hardware store from Sam's vision. After all, all five of them couldn't go into the diner and question Gallagher's ex-coworkers. Talk about drawing attention to themselves.

But Steve had refused to stay behind. Fists had almost been thrown over the whole situation. And Sam had relented and allowed the kid to come, because Sam was an empathetic idiot.

It had been all murmured, sympathetic bullshit about how Steve was in the same boat Sam was, and of course the kid would want to be in on the search for Andrew Gallagher, and how they should respect that and let him come with them. After all, weren't they all in this together?

So Dean had rolled his eyes and let Sam have his way, and now all three of them were in the Impala and headed for the diner, even though Dean didn't want the kid there at all, and didn't believe they were all in on this together. Steve kept leaving, didn't he? Bailing on his sisters, barely ever calling them up, causing them all kinds of trouble and worry? Kid could suck it, for all Dean cared.

"Man, this car sucks," Steve muttered in the backseat. "How old are these seats, man? Did you take them off an even older POS and stick them in here?"

Dean saw red, and the brief moment of rage caused him to wheel the car way too fast into the nearest parking space and brake with a jolt. Sam and Steve lurched forward.

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed, rolling his eyes. "What the hell, man?"

He ignored his brother, putting the car in park and whirling around to glower at the interloper. "You're new around here, so I'm not going to kill you," he informed Steve. "But for future reference? We don't talk shit about my car!"

Steve scoffed. A short, disbelieving chuckle escaped his throat, and the brat pulled the corners of his mouth in a smug, mocking smirk. Sam pinched his nose in exasperation, leaning back hard against the passenger seat, and Steve glanced at him for confirmation that yes, Dean had just said that.

"Is he for real?" Steve demanded.

"Unfortunately, yes," Sam grumbled into his hand.

"The Impala isn't even a real muscle car," Steve informed Dean, sending the elder Winchester's blood pressure through the roof. "No self respecting drag racer would even consider putting this thing on the track. You, my friend, are driving a tricked out sedan."

Dean could feel his expression turn from hard to full-on murderous. He bolted out of the car and slammed the door behind him. "All right, get out!" he barked into the open window. "Now!"

Steve made an incredulous face. "What?"

"You and me, kid. Let's go!"

"Dean…" Sam murmured warningly.

"I'm going to kill him," Dean snapped at his brother.

Sam rolled his eyes and climbed out of the car. Steve threw open the back door and climbed out too. Dean clenched his fists as Steve slammed the door behind him.

"All right, fine!" Steve retorted, raising his arms challengingly. "Let's do this!"

Sam had already marched around the back bumper of the car, however, and now he was forcing himself in between them. "Enough, already!" he exclaimed, giving them both his patented disapproving eyebrows. "Seriously? Andrew Gallagher? Anyone remember him?"

Dean rolled his eyes, but straightened his suit jacket and relaxed. He was starting to feel guilty and sheepish. Steve looked like he felt something similar as he pulled on his bolo tie and straightened his leather coat.

Dean took a double-take. He was wearing a freaking bolo tie? With that tie, and Steve's leather jacket, complete with the small diamonds in his earlobes that he had neglected to remove, the kid looked less like an estate lawyer (their cover story) and a lot more like a mob boss… or a cowboy... or a bald Bruce Springsteen. Either way, it was bad.

Sam had apparently just noticed the kid's attire too, because he squinted at Steve's neck and asked incredulously, "Is that a bolo tie?"

Steve shrugged, straightening his coat again. He tilted his chin confrontationally, towards the sky. "What about it?" he retorted.

Dean cocked his eyebrow, and looked at Sam. His brother shook his head and sighed in defeat, rubbing his temples in exasperation. "Whatever," he said. "Let's just work the job, please?"

He started walking towards the diner, and Dean followed him. Steve rolled his eyes, but he too fell in line. Dean stopped short and whirled around to level a threatening finger in Steve's face.

"My baby," he growled. "Is not a sedan."

Steve smirked. "It hurts because it's true."

Dean lunged at him, and Sam caught him by the back of his jacket, tugging him in the direction of the diner. "Enough!" he bellowed again. "Walk it off, Dean!"

Steve smirked again. Dean glowered at him some more, and then he turned his back on the punk kid, straightened his suit jacket again, brushed past Sam, who was still shaking his head, and marched up to the diner door.

It was slow in the dim, gray place. Only a few patrons were scattered among the hodgepodge collection of gray booths and small tables. Dean half expected some weird looks, considering the scene he was sure the diner had witnessed them put on in the parking lot, but nobody even glanced their way. The hostess – a reasonably pretty, sweet-voiced blonde in a navy blue dress – led the three of them to a table and introduced herself as Tracy, before taking their drink orders. When she came back to the table with three mugs and a pot of coffee, Sam asked her about Andrew Gallagher.

She smirked, pouring the coffee into their cheap white mugs. "You won't get anything out of Andy, guys. I'm sorry, but they never do."

Dean frowned at that, and glanced at the other two guys at the table. Sam frowned too. "They?" he asked.

"You're debt collectors, right?" Tracy asked. "Once in a while they come by.I don't know what Andy says to them, but they never come back."

Her forehead was slightly crumpled as she spoke, and she stared at a spot across the diner, like she was trying to figure out just exactly what Andy said to the debt collectors.

"Actually, we're lawyers," Dean spoke up. "Representing his great aunt Lita." Steve snorted almost imperceptibly, and Dean gave him the side-eye. "She passed, God rest her soul, and left Andy with a sizeable estate."

"Yeah," Sam murmured, taking over. "So are you a friend of his?"

Tracy took a deep breath and nodded, her voice slightly shaky. "I used to be, yeah. I don't see much of Andy anymore."

"Andy?"

Dean winced at the overly enthusiastic exclamation, frowning at the excited young man who suddenly plopped himself down at their table. Sam frowned at him too, and Steve leaned back in his chair, raising his eyebrow and studying the newcomer critically. "Andy kicks ass, man!" the guy announced, grinning too wide.

"Is that right?" Dean returned, his eyes sweeping briefly over the kid's dorky shirt and close cropped brown hair. He was very average looking, with a patch of beard on his chin, and his pale blue eyes were set a little too close together.

"Yeah! Andy can get you into anything, man! He even got me backstage at Aerosmith once. It was beautiful, bro."

Tracy rolled her eyes, giving the busboy a look that suggested she'd heard it all before. "Uh-huh. How about busing a table or two, Webber?"

Webber looked a little embarrassed as he ducked his head and grabbed an empty coffee mug off their table. "Yeah, you bet, boss."

He ducked out of sight, and Dean exchanged a look with Sam, whose awkward half laugh proved he thought the busboy every bit as strange as Dean did. Steve frowned after the kid, and glanced at Tracy.

"He always like that?" he asked.

Tracy nodded and her lips quirked into a small, rueful smile. "Pretty much. Look, if you want to find Andy, try Orchard Street. Just look for a van with a barbarian queen painted on the side."

Dean blinked. "Barbarian queen?" he repeated.

Tracy nodded again, smirking at him. "She's riding a polar bear. It's kind of hard to miss."

She turned her back on them after that, the coffee pot dangling from her hand, and headed back into the kitchen. Dean watched her walk away, and then glanced at Sam and Steve. Sam was already downing the remainder of his coffee and tossing a few bills onto the table.

"Come on," he ordered, getting to his feet. "Let's head over to Orchard Street."

Dean eyed his brother as Sam walked briskly towards the exit. Then he glanced at Steve, meeting the kid's eyes accidentally. Steve raised his eyebrow. "He's eager," Steve observed.

He scoffed at the kid's commentary. "Just do me a favor and keep your mouth shut."

"Hey, man, I get it. We don't like each other. I'm honestly ok with that. But your brother's acting seriously cuckoo."

"What do you care?"

"I just don't want him to be a liability. I don't particularly enjoy getting psychically murdered, you know? I really don't like the idea of my sisters getting psychically murdered. Pretty much against the getting murdered bit in general."

Dean gritted his teeth and glanced at the door. Sam was already standing by the Impala, gesturing impatiently at him from across the parking lot. Steve shot Sam a quick look, and then returned his eyes to Dean, raising his eyebrow again. "Can he handle this?" Steve wanted to know. "Tell me straight."

He was beyond annoyed at this point. Dean got to his feet, his jaw tight, and looked Steve in the eye. "We'll be fine," he told him in a low, threatening voice. "Sam will be fine. Now, can we get this show on the road?"

With that, Dean turned his back on Steve and marched for the door. He heard Steve following behind him, but he refused to look back at the kid. Questioning Sam like that… hinting that his younger brother was out of control or a liability… he wasn't going to stand for it. He was worried about Sam, but that wasn't Steve's business. He refused to tell the kid anything.

No matter how much Dean might agree with him.


Lynn frowned at her computer screen, running through a list of shops located in Guthrie, Oklahoma. Jayne was pacing the room, grunting into her cell phone, probably getting the play-by-play of whatever had happened at Andrew Gallagher's old workplace. It was a tiny room, a single open rectangle with a bathroom on the opposite wall from the door and the single, large window. The motel was older, but not rundown. It was actually kind of quaint, with polka-dot curtains hanging on the window and an avocado fridge from the 1950s. Unfortunately there was no air conditioning – only a single ceiling fan that lazily stirred up the stale summer heat, blowing it around the room.

There was no Wi-Fi, either – Lynn had been forced to hack onto the network from the next door building. It hadn't been too hard, but even still she wasn't sure the results were worth the small struggle. There was only one hardware store, from what she could tell, but there was also a separate gun shop, and she had no way of knowing which one was the store that had featured in Sam's vision.

Her sister hung up the phone and dropped down heavily into the chair across the table from her, sighing and swinging her feet up onto the tabletop. "That was Steve."

"Figured," Lynn replied, looking up from her laptop. "So, what's the deal?"

"Some chick at the diner said Gallagher hangs around Orchard Street. Gave them a description of his van."

"His van?" Lynn asked skeptically, raising her eyebrow.

"Yeah," Jayne returned, frowning at her boots. "I think he might live in it. Told you he was homeless."

Lynn rolled her eyes at that, and began looking for directions to Orchard Street. She could feel Jayne's eyes on her as her fingers flew across the keyboard.

"I don't think Steve and the boys got along so well this morning," Jayne commented.

She snorted. "Yeah, what did you expect?"

"Murder-suicide, so… no matter what happened, it went better than anticipated."

Lynn raised her eyebrow at her sister, and then shook her head. "I don't know why the hell he insisted on going with them in the first place."

Jayne shrugged. "Yellow eyed demon, special children with special powers… not trusting Sam and Dean at all… take your pick."

"He and Sam are getting super annoying about all that stuff," Lynn announced, copying down the directions to Orchard Street on the motel stationary. "Are we going to have to listen to their constant angst-y man pain for the entire hunt?"

Jayne chuckled dryly, shaking her head and rubbing her eyes. "Probably. They're swinging by to change, and then the five of us will head out."

"In the Impala?"

"Well, we ain't about to all fit in the truck."

There was a moment of silence. Lynn finished writing down the directions, and then she closed her laptop with a soft click. Jayne looked up from her fingernails and raised her eyebrow. "I don't get why he hates them so much," Lynn said.

Jayne shrugged again. "He doesn't know them."

"So?"

"So he doesn't trust them."

"He trusts us. He knows us. Shouldn't that be enough?"

Her sister focused her eyes on the tabletop, suddenly very interested in the grain of the wood. "I don't know. Maybe he thinks they're screwing with us. He gets protective sometimes. It's completely annoying and kind of ridiculous, seeing as he's the baby, but… whatever. We're family."

Lynn chewed her lip, considering the argument. "That might very well be," she half-conceded after a moment. "But we've been with the boys for months now. If Steve wanted to have an opinion, he shouldn't have bailed on us so many times."

"I'll pass it on," Jayne drawled sarcastically, getting to her feet. Lynn frowned at her as she crossed the room towards the kitchenette and grabbed a glass off the counter. The pipes clanked and groaned as she turned on the faucet and filled the cup.

"I cannot believe you," Lynn announced, glaring at her sister's back.

Jayne shut off the water and took a sip from the glass. She turned around to look at Lynn, leaning on the counter and frowning. "What?"

"You're going to make me be the bad guy."

"No one needs to be the bad guy. What the hell are you talking about, anyway?"

"What am I talking about…? Jayne, you cannot be serious."

"Well, I am, so… get explaining."

For a long, tense moment, Lynn stared at her sister incredulously, and Jayne stared evenly back, her eyebrow raised expectantly. She almost exploded – almost started yelling at her and throwing things, because Jayne could not seriously be this dense.

But before she could start the yelling, the door swung open and in marched Steve, wrestling off his bolo tie and throwing off his leather jacket. Lynn frowned at him as he stomped around the room, gathering up jeans and a more casual shirt.

Jayne's eyes followed him, her face arranged in a mildly curious expression. "How'd it go?" she asked dryly.

Steve shot her a glare over his shoulder. "Explain something to me. Why are we putting up with these two morons?"

"What did you do?" Lynn demanded immediately.

Her brother gaped at her in shock, and huffed, clearly offended. "What makes you so sure this is on me?"

Lynn snorted, returning his gawking with her own incredulous, openmouthed expression. "Maybe because it almost always is?"

"I didn't do a damn thing," Steve retorted, and then frowned slightly, amending that. "Well, I might have informed Dean his car was a sedan…"

"What?" Jayne interrupted. "Why would you do that?"

"Hey, I'm just speaking truth here. Anyway, I think the real reason the guy got so upset with me is because I said something about Sam."

Lynn narrowed her eyes. "What did you say about Sam?"

Steve snorted this time. "Please. Nothing you aren't already thinking. Come on, I can't be the only one who's seeing it! Guy's acting sort of crazy. I think maybe this hunt's a little too personal for him, and I don't want any of us dead because he can't get a grip on his demon issues."

"Of course Sam's freaked out," Lynn retorted, very aware even as she spoke that she had just been complaining about this very thing. Steve didn't need to know that. "This hunt could be connected to the demon, Steve! This Andrew Gallagher guy might have some sort of psychic power, like you and Sam! Why are you not freaking out?"

Jayne raised her eyebrow again, shifting from one foot to the other where she leaned on the sink. She said nothing, and Lynn wanted to smack her. How dare she look so cool, calm and collected? It was like this hunt wasn't upsetting her at all.

Steve looked uncomfortable and fussed with the collar of his dress shirt. "I'm just not, ok?" he replied. "Look, I could – I could freak out easy. Hell, I have. But what's the point? Either the demon's involved, or he isn't. Either Gallagher's like us, or he's not. Maybe we're all killing machines, just waiting to be triggered – and maybe what we do with the demon mojo is our own choice. What good is freaking out going to do? It's all the same no matter how I react. So I'm not going to freak out. I've already had my personal pity party – I've already had my freak-out, and now I'm choosing to do something with all this crap and quit whining about it. Ok? Is that all right with you?"

He'd been so calm, right up until the end of the outburst. Towards the end, his voice rose so that he was yelling the final words, with his eyebrows furrowed and his stormy gray eyes growing even darker. Lynn blinked at him, and he stared her down, his chest heaving. She could have yelled back – she kind of wanted to – but she also didn't know what she could scream at him. Lynn was out of arguments.

She swallowed. "Fine," she whispered. "That's… of course it's… it's fine."

"Thank you," Steve snapped. Then he grabbed the rest of his clothes and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

She flinched as the loud bang! echoed through the motel room. Then she turned her wide eyes on Jayne, who shrugged at her from across the room.

"So… I guess he's fine?" Lynn asked uncertainly.

Jayne shrugged again, her eyes on the floor. "Hey, maybe he is and maybe he isn't. At least he gets it; freaking out doesn't change what's going down around here. And I don't know about you, but I can only handle one Sam Winchester per hunt."

Lynn scoffed and made a face at her sister. "Well, I can only handle one Jayne Gibson per hunt, so… shut up."

Jayne chuckled at that. Someone knocked on the door, and Lynn rolled her eyes at her sister one last time before crossing the room to answer it. Standing outside were Sam and Dean, already changed and ready to go.

"You guys ready?" Dean asked gruffly.

"Just about," Lynn replied, stepping back. "Come on in."

They entered, neither one of them really saying anything as they did so. Sam shut the door behind him, and then stood awkwardly beside it with his hands shoved in his coat pockets and his shoulders hunched. Dean flopped down at the table and began drumming his fingers impatiently against the surface.

"I found a hardware store on Main Street," Lynn spoke up. Her voice sounded too loud in the silence, and everyone stared at her. "I think it's the right place – they sell guns and sports-ware, so…"

She trailed off and bit her bottom lip. Dean shrugged and stared at the floor. Jayne twitched the corner of her mouth in what Lynn assumed was meant to be a smile, as though she were trying to reassure her. Lynn did not feel reassured.

Sam forced a smile for her. "Ok. Sounds good."

She smiled back, and then her shoulders slumped and she took a seat on the edge of her bed. A few seconds later, Steve stepped out of the bathroom, dressed and ready to leave.

"Finally," Dean grumbled. Then he got up from the table and marched out into the parking lot. Sam followed close on his heels. Lynn rolled her eyes and pushed herself off the bed, leading Jayne and Steve out of the room.

Jayne shut the door behind them. "We're taking the Impala," Dean announced, his keys already out and jangling in his hand.

"What?" Steve asked, frowning. "What's wrong with my car?"

"We're not all going to fit in the truck," Dean replied easily. "And you drive a giant carrot."

Steve bristled at that. "What Dean means," Sam quickly interjected. "Is that your car is… not exactly inconspicuous."

"Well, he's got a point there," Jayne drawled. Steve glared at her. "Oh, come on, Steve. It's bright orange, and the wing's as tall as I am."

Steve muttered something under his breath, but fell silent and followed the rest of them towards the Impala. "You know," he said as they drew nearer. "This car isn't exactly stake-out material either."

"Yeah, well, at least it's not orange," Dean smirked. Then he swung open the driver side door and climbed into the car.

Steve glared at the Impala. "I hate him," he announced.

"Don't sweat it," Jayne returned. "I think he feels the same way."

Then she climbed into the backseat and slammed the door. Lynn rolled her eyes and climbed into the car too, Steve on her heels. Once all five of them were crammed into the vehicle, Dean started her up and headed for Orchard Street.

It was a short, silent ride, and Andrew Gallagher's van was easy to spot. Dean coasted to a stop on the other side of the street, shutting off the engine but leaving the radio on. Lynn raised her eyebrow at the shiny, dark blue monstrosity parked in front of the nearby, sunny yellow apartment buildings. It was a full size van, with shiny metal roll bars and, sure enough, emblazoned on the side was an incredibly busty, redheaded barbarian queen. She was riding a polar bear.

"I'm sorry, I'm starting to like this dude," Dean proclaimed. "That van is sweet."

Lynn made a face and frowned at Jayne, who was crammed into the backseat beside her. Jayne just shrugged, and Lynn rolled her eyes in response. Steve was practically drooling at the van in question, and Lynn rolled her eyes a second time. She was never going to understand men.

Although, she got the feeling Sam didn't share his brother's infatuation with the barbarian queen. Sam was silent, practically glaring out the windshield, his eyes fixated on the van. Dean noticed this too. "What's wrong?" he frowned.

Sam didn't take his eyes away from the van. "Nothing."

Dean snorted. "Sammy, you look like you're sucking on a lemon. What's going on?"

"This Andrew Gallagher," Sam replied. "He's the second guy like this we've found – third, maybe. Demon came to them when they were kids; now they're killing people."

Max Miller's red face and twitchy eyes popped into Lynn's brain. She glanced at Steve, who slumped down in the seat and folded his arms over his chest, looking every bit like a petulant child.

"We don't know what Andrew Gallagher is," Dean retorted in a low, hard voice. "He could be innocent."

"My visions haven't been wrong yet!" Sam snapped. Clearly, he wasn't buying it, and to be honest, neither was Lynn.

"What's your point?" Dean asked.

"My point it, I'm one of them."

"No you're not."

"Dean, the demon said he had plans for me, and children like me."

"Oh god," Steve groaned from the backseat, running his hand over his face. "Kill me now."

Sam glowered over his shoulder at him. "Children like us," he amended. "You know, you should be worried about this too."

"You know what, you're right," Steve retorted, sitting up straight and leaning forward. "Let's all worry together. We can sit side-by-side in the dark, staring out the rainy windows, and bite our nails. Sound good? Come on, man, even if the demon does have plans for us, isn't sitting around worrying about it when we can't do anything about it kind of a colossal waste of time?"

There was a brief moment of silence. Lynn worried her lower lip with her teeth, really not wanting to have this conversation again. Sam gaped incredulously at her brother, while Jayne pretended something just outside her window was absolutely fascinating.

Dean scoffed from the front seat. "Kid's got a point," he murmured. "Admitting that physically hurt, but… a point's a point."

"No!" Sam argued. "It's not a point! Look, what if this is his plan? We have to be aware of that! I mean, what if we're all just a bunch of psychic freaks! Maybe we're all supposed to be…"

"What?" Dean interrupted. "Killers?"

"Yeah!"

"So the demon wants you out there, killing with your minds! Is that it?"

Sam made a face and fell silent, glaring petulantly at the dashboard. "Oh, give me a break," Dean grumbled. "You're not a murderer, Sam! You don't have it in your bones."

There was a brief moment of pause, and then Sam asked skeptically, "No?"

Dean looked away from him, his face suggesting he had already anticipated Sam's reply. "Last I checked," Sam pressed. "I kill all kinds of things."

"Those things were asking for it. There's a difference."

Another silence followed Dean's proclamation, and then the elder Winchester ducked his head and stared out the driver side window. Lynn sighed as quietly as she could, leaning back gingerly in the seat. Jayne rolled her eyes beside her.

"This is stupid," she announced. Four pairs of eyes turned on her. "No, really, it is," she insisted. "Who cares what the demon's plans are? Nobody's making you follow them!"

Sam blinked at that, and Lynn swallowed a little too hard. Both Steve and Dean stared at her with hard, unreadable expressions. Jayne rolled her eyes again. "Even if he wants you all to be killers," she said, in a softer tone this time. "It doesn't really matter. The demon can have all the plans in the world for you two, but in the end, who really gives a damn? Just don't do it."

More silence followed that statement, and Jayne redirected her gaze out the window. "And quit talking about it," she grumbled. "All we ever end up doing is rehashing the same shit over and over again, anyway. It's pointless. Shut up."

Lynn would have liked to strangle her sister for saying something so insensitive, but at the same time she was hit with a sudden realization that Jayne was right. Every time they opened this topic for discussion, everyone said the same shit they always said, and nothing ever got resolved. Maybe it was better to table the subject until they had more information to work with.

Before anyone could agree or disagree with Jayne, however, Sam straightened in his seat and frowned at the apartment building across the street. "Got him," he informed them all.

Lynn looked over at the building immediately and found the man in question stepping out through the white door on the corner. He looked the same as he did in the ID photo Ash had gotten for them – pale and scruffy, with brown hair arranged in a perpetual case of bed-head, and a patch of beard on his chin. Also, sideburns.

She scrunched up her face at him. There was some sort of ridiculous comic book store medallion hanging around his neck, and he wore a faded black tee shirt, worn looking sweatpants, and a kimono. That's right – an actual kimono, hanging wide open and billowing out behind him like a cape. It was dark green and silky and had a big yellow dragon printed on the back. He was grinning goofily as he sauntered lazily down the sidewalk, and he glanced up at the window of the apartment he'd apparently just come from. A very busty, very pretty young blonde woman was sitting on the windowsill in a barely there black robe, waving at him enthusiastically. He blew her a kiss, and continued on down the sidewalk.

Lynn frowned deeper, and Sam and Dean exchanged incredulous looks in the front seat. Steve scoffed beside her, sitting up straighter. "What the hell?" he muttered.

Next, Andrew Gallagher encountered another young man walking up the street towards him, and stopped to compliment him on his jeans. As the four of them watched, the plaid vest wearing newcomer handed the kimono-clad kid his to-go coffee, and then continued merrily on his way. Gallagher thanked him, took a heavy gulp of the drink, and kept right on walking.

"Ok," Lynn murmured. "That was a little weird…"

Gallagher hit the street corner, obviously headed for his ridiculous van, when he stopped to shake hands with a portly, African-American man, whose curly hair was turning gray, and who had crinkles forming at the corners of his brown eyes. The man smiled wide, and the two of them started talking pleasantly.

"Wow," Jayne said sarcastically on Lynn's right. "Well, that settles it. Kid's a criminal mastermind."

Lynn smacked her arm and shushed her. Before Jayne could offer a retort – and she had definitely been about to, Lynn could tell – Sam gasped from the front seat and leaned towards Dean's window.

"That's him!" he exclaimed, gesturing at the older man. "That older guy – that's him, he's the shooter!"

That shut Jayne up, and Lynn bit her lip worriedly. She watched through the rear windshield as the kid said goodbye and headed for his van. The older man patted him on the shoulder, and then kept going in the opposite direction.

"All right," Dean broke the quiet, taking charge. "Sam, Steve, Lynn – you stick with the shooter. Jayne and I will tail Andy."

Sam nodded and vaulted out of the car. Jayne slid out of the backseat and into the front, and Lynn exited the car behind her sister. Steve rolled his eyes, grumbled something under his breath, and then he too got out of the car.

Andy started his van across the street, and instantly Dean's Impala rumbled to life. Lynn cast a glance backwards as she crossed the street, watching Dean swing his car around, and then follow Andy's van down Orchard Street, around the corner, and out of sight.

She swallowed too hard, and then followed along behind Sam and her younger brother. They were tailing the older man from Sam's vision, trying to be as discreet as possible. Nobody they passed even glanced their way.

Lynn sidled up alongside Sam, looking around her warily. "Anything look familiar?" she asked.

He shook his head, and then pointed up the road, where Orchard met Main Street. "Just that clock tower up ahead."

She nodded and swallowed again, her stomach turning with ill ease. Steve sighed from behind them, and she frowned over her shoulder at him. His hands were shoved in his pockets, and he was glaring at everything they passed.

"You sure about this?" he asked suddenly. "Following the shooter… you think he's going to make the move now? And if he is… you think this is safe?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't think we have a lot of options."

Steve nodded only once, reluctantly conceding. Lynn mustered up a sympathetic smile for her brother, and then returned her eyes to the sidewalk in front of her. The three of them fell into a tense, uncomfortable silence.

She was getting tired having too few options.


Dean's car rumbled just a little too loud as they followed Andy's van just a little too close. His eyes were focused too hard on the van's back bumper, and Jayne was starting to get a little bit annoyed at the whole situation.

She was even more annoyed that he'd put his arm over the back of her seat when he'd been turning the car around at the beginning of the chase, and he'd yet to remove it. More than anything else that had conspired between them lately, Jayne hated the mixed signals.

"Ten and two," she grunted at him.

Dean looked at her funny, and then seemed to notice his arm was on her seat. He jerked the arm back like he'd touched fire and put both hands on the steering wheel before clearing his throat awkwardly. "Sorry," he muttered.

As a result, they lapsed into seriously uncomfortable silence. Jayne rolled her eyes, not only at Dean, but at herself as well. She glared at the van as they followed it past the cute, quirky buildings in a multitude of colors – sunny yellows, muted blues, pale grays, mint greens. They rounded a curve, coming up close to a row of cars parked parallel against the curb, and then Andy wheeled his van down a quiet, mostly deserted street, past a white picket fence, and an old white building. The street ended abruptly before them, where it ran into a perpendicular road that was narrow and dusty. At the end of the street was some sort of old, possibly abandoned warehouse, and a beat up iron fence surrounded the weed speckled, dirt lot.

Andy stopped his van before the fence and shut off the engine. Jayne frowned at the van, and then frowned at Dean. He put the Impala in park, and then he reached across her legs, his wrist brushing against her thigh as he grabbed hold of the pistol he'd been hiding in the glove compartment.

"Be cool," he ordered her, tucking the weapon into his jacket.

Jayne raised her eyebrow at that, and would have offered some sort of scathing retort if Andy hadn't chosen that moment to climb down from his van and walk back towards the Impala.

"Hey!" he greeted them, his tone friendly and his smile genuine. Jayne frowned at him as he came up to the car and plopped his hands down heavily on the side of the Impala. Dean flinched noticeably at the suspected malice towards his baby, and Jayne rolled her eyes.

"Hey," he said to the kid, his voice wavering slightly. Jayne could see his hand still gripping the gun inside his coat. Andy leaned into the window, and nodded in her direction.

"What's up?"

She glared at him. "You're blocking the road."

Dean whipped his head around to glower at her incredulously. Andy laughed.

"Sorry. Man, this is a cheery ride!"

Dean redirected his frown at Andy. "Yeah, thanks."

"67? Impala's best year, if you ask me." The kid laughed, and then eyed the car appreciatively once again. "Man, this is a serious classic."

It was almost predictable, the way Dean's hand slid off his gun and his shoulders relaxed. "Yeah," he grinned, patting the steering wheel, and Jayne was forced to roll her eyes a second time. "You know, I just rebuilt her too."

"Yeah?"

"Can't let a car like this go."

"Damn straight!" Andy agreed enthusiastically, pounding Dean on the shoulder. Jayne made a face at the two of them. As annoying as she currently found them both, she had to admit that this didn't exactly bode well for Sam's theory that Andy was some sort of psychic freak who went around murdering people with his mind. He seemed like a perfectly nice, albeit eccentric, homeless guy.

"Say," Andy said, leaning closer into the window. His voice dropped a pitch, taking on an almost breathless quality, and something about his tone, coupled with his suddenly very intense eyes set off warning bells in Jayne's brain. "Can I have it?"

"Sure, man!" Dean immediately agreed, climbing out of the car. Jayne screwed up her face incredulously, watching the two men trade seats.

"Whoa!" she exclaimed. "Hold up! Dean, what the hell are you doing?"

"Everything's fine," Andy told her as Dean shut the door behind him. "You should probably get out of the car though."

Instantly, her brain shut off. She could hear herself say, "Yeah, I probably should." She watched herself climb out of the car and slam the door behind her. She felt herself wave at the kid who was currently stealing Dean's car.

It wasn't her, though, not really. It was like she'd completely lost control.

"There you go," Dean grinned stupidly.

Andy chuckled from inside the car and put the Impala in gear. "Take it easy!" he called out the window.

"All right," Dean chuckled back. Suddenly, Jayne felt the numb, happy-go-lucky feeling that had taken over her brain fade away, and she was back to frowning at both Dean and the tail end of his car as it disappeared down the road.

Dean, too, seemed to be getting back to normal. His grin faltered, and he slowly frowned after his baby, as though he had just realized exactly what is was he'd done.

The Impala vanished around the corner. Jayne watched it go, and then she stared at Dean. Still frowning, he tore his eyes away from the end of the street and met her gaze. There was a short moment of silence and staring, and then everything seemed to click for Dean.

"What the hell?" he exploded.

Jayne raised her eyebrow. "You just gave your car to the psychic serial killer," she informed him.

"I know that!" Dean bellowed. "Why didn't you stop me?"

She held up her hands defensively. "I tried!"

Dean shook his head, and stared off down the street again. "He full on Obi Wan-ed me!"

Jayne nodded. "Yeah. He full on Obi Wan-ed you."

He glared at her. "You too," he pointed out.

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, fine, me too. You were way worse, though. At least I didn't give him my car."

Dean scoffed at that. "He wouldn't have asked for your car."

Jayne huffed indignantly.

There was another silence. Dean stared once again at the spot where his car had last been. They stood there awkwardly in the street for a moment, and Jayne folded her arms over her chest, frowning up and down the road.

Dean caught her eye again. She shrugged at him. "Guess we're walking," she said.

He sneered.

Jayne turned her back on him and headed for Andy's van. She rounded the back bumper and marched straight for the driver's side door.

"What are you doing?" Dean demanded as she pulled the door open and ducked her head into the van.

"Snooping," she retorted, climbing all the way into the front seat and practically laying across it, yanking open the glove compartment. She started rooting through Andy's insurance papers, car registration, wet naps…

"Anything interesting?" Dean's low voice rumbled out from behind her, closer than she was expecting. She jumped slightly and looked over her shoulder, finding him leaning into the van directly above her. "Or, you know… useful?"

She shrugged, resuming her search. "Not really."

Dean sighed and leaned against the open door. Jayne gave up on the glove compartment and sat up on the seat, her long legs dangling out the door. She found herself inches from Dean's face, and instinctually swallowed, hard.

He swallowed too. She watched the bob of his Adam's apple, and then looked up. His eyes bored into hers. For a moment, Jayne sat frozen in the van, staring at Dean. He leaned in, ever so slightly, his gaze traveling down towards her lips.

Then his cell phone rang, and the moment ended.

Which was a good thing, Jayne told herself, when he answered the phone and practically ran away from her. Every time they had a moment, after all, Jayne wound up feeling miserable and confused the very next day – sometimes even as soon as later that afternoon.

She'd really like to quit being miserable and confused.


Sam was starting to panic.

If he was being perfectly honest with himself, of course, he'd have to admit he'd been on the verge of panic all day. But now, he had officially teetered over the edge and was operating on one hundred percent panic mode.

He was still walking down the sidewalk, following along behind the portly doctor from his vision and watching his every move. Lynn was at his side, and she looked a little lost. Sam suspected she was waiting for some kind of signal from him. After all, she didn't exactly know what he'd seen inside his head.

Steve looked kind of bored, trailing along behind them and taking in all the sights the street had to offer. Sam shook his head, annoyed at Lynn's brother but determined not to cause another scene like the one Dean had instigated earlier that day.

They followed the man up the street, passing people Sam vaguely recognized from his dream. The three of them passed the very familiar, gray stone clock tower on the corner. Sam glanced across the street, and saw the door to the fated hardware store.

His stomach dropped down through his feet and he had to swallow back his nausea when the doctor's cell phone began to ring. The man answered it promptly, and the dread only spread. Swallowing again, Sam glanced across the street, watching the Blue Ridge Line bus pass by with a hiss and a groan.

He glanced both ways and then ran across the road, leaving Lynn and Steve staring after him on the curb. Sam ignored the stares he could feel them directing at his back and jogged up the front steps of the hardware store.

Sam ducked inside the store, glancing around him quickly. A rush of déjà-vu hit him so hard, he almost lost his breath. He recognized the people standing around in all the same spots he saw them in his vision. There, at the back of the store, behind the gun counter, Dennis leaned on the show glass, thumbing through a magazine. The walls were the same bright white, the lights were still harsh and florescent, and there were still plumbing fixtures mounted on the walls.

On the left hand side of the door was the fire alarm. Sam glanced around one more time, looking to see if he was being watched, and then he gave the wire a tug. Immediately, the alarm started going off, causing everyone around the store to look up in concern. Sam ducked back outside, and a steady stream of customers and employees followed him out into the sun, gathering on the sidewalk.

Lynn and Steve were waiting at the curb for him. Sam glanced at them, and then at the doctor, who was standing in front of the steps, frowning at the store and its blaring alarm system. Finally, the guy shrugged and walked away.

Sam heaved a sigh of relief and joined Lynn and Steve at the curb. "Good thinking," Lynn whispered to him, and Sam gave her a nod of thanks.

"Hope it worked," he murmured.

At that moment, Dean's Impala sped up the street. Sam frowned at the approaching car, and his jaw dropped when he realized that his brother was not behind the wheel.

Andrew Gallagher was driving the Impala.

Sam gawked after his brother's car as Lynn slowly shook her head, closing her eyes with exasperation. "Somebody please tell me I didn't just see Andy driving the Impala," she sighed.

Steve whistled, frowning after the car as it roared on up the road. "Damn," he said. "Your brother's going to be pissed."

Sam already had his phone out, and now he frantically dialed Dean's cell number. Once his brother answered, Sam exclaimed into the receiver, "Dean, Andy's got the Impala!"

"I know!" Dean snapped over the line. "He just… sort of asked me for it, and I… I let him take it."

"You what?" Sam exploded.

"He full on Obi Wan-ed me! It's mind control, man!"

Lynn was frowning at him, silently mouthing, 'What happened?' Sam shrugged her off, wanting to get to the bottom of things before he had to make any explanations.

"Oh, no," he heard Steve mutter beside him, distracting him from his phone conversation and his brother's stolen car. Then, Steve's voice got louder and panicked. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Wait, man!"

Sam whirled around to see why Steve was yelling. Steve darted forward, off the curb, racing after the doctor. Sam nearly dropped his phone, his arm falling to his side, as he watched the large, older man step directly in front of a Blue Ridge Line bus.

Shoes went flying. The doctor hit the pavement, and the bus sped right on over him. The onlookers gasped and screamed at the sudden, jarring impact. Steve faltered in the street, and Lynn yelped beside Sam, her hands flying over her mouth. Cars swerved to a stop around the scene, tires squealing and horns honking.

The bus came to a stop a few feet down the road, but it was too late for anything to be done – everyone could see that. Horrified, Sam gaped at the grisly spot on the road, his face scrunching up as he fought back both tears and nausea. Lynn grabbed his arm and yanked him back a few steps, forcibly turning him away from the scene and making him look at her instead.

Steve groaned, taking a shaky step back onto the curb, and running his hand over his shaven head. "Should have moved faster," he heard the other man mumbling.

"Sam," Lynn murmured, taking his hands. "Look at me. There's nothing you could have done."

He looked at her, but he didn't believe her. He should have kept watch on the man – he shouldn't have assumed it would just be over, just like that.

This was nobody's fault but his.