Happy Thursday.

Dean comes back from his hunt for Bela six days later and doesn't say much unless me and Bobby ask questions. We have three days left. We ask a lot of questions.

Did you find Bela?

Did she still have the Colt?

Did you find out why she was talking with demons?

Did you find out who owns your soul?

And of course, the one I can't stop asking:

Are you okay?

We get answers to all but the last.

"Yeah, I found her. She didn't have the Colt, just like I told you guys she wouldn't," Dean replies to the first two questions. We're all sitting in Bobby's study, lore books and random scraps of paper spread out around us in a way that reminds me of finals week at Stanford. I'm a completely different person than I was back when I was at college, but lately I've found myself wishing I could go back to the days when exams were my biggest problem. I'd have to be crazy not to, I think. I'm already going crazy, I think.

Three days. Three days. Three days.

Dean isn't sitting down anymore. He's been back less than ten minutes after driving through the night, yet it seems he can't stay still. Reminds me of how I've been for the past six days while he was away, but mine was a different, more productive kind of movement. Bobby and I dove into anything and everything we could find. We made phone calls, read tons of books, and I even attempted a few protection spells for Dean's benefit when Bobby was either getting a quick nap in or digging in his garage for more books. Bobby might've been willing to help me with them, but I wasn't sure, so I didn't ask. Seemed better to just do it, but so far there have been no signs that they've worked. No signs they haven't though.

"So did you find out why she was talking to demons? I mean, did she have any information at all?" I ask, trying not to get my hopes up. But the fact is, we need answers. We needed answers last week.

Dean's not looking at either of us. He's pacing the short length of Bobby's study, dodging books and stray papers like he's trying to avoid cracks in a sidewalk. Attention totally focused on the task, up on his tiptoes with a beer in his hand. Seems he always has a beer in his hand. But he's holding onto something else, too. I can only hope it's not as damaging as the alcohol, but I can't tell because he still won't look at me. He's just walking and spinning and walking again, around and around in circles.

"Dean?" I say, just as he narrowly avoids stepping on a book titled Theories of Immortality. He glances up at me, as if he'd forgotten I was there, eyes sweeping over to Bobby next, who looks back at him imploringly.

"I uh…" Dean hesitates, turning his back to us. "Bela gave the Colt to the demons. She's been working with them…or for them, I guess."

"And why in the hell would she do that?" Bobby asked. "I mean she ain't a bucket of sunshine or nothin', but I still can't understand why she'd willingly give up a gun like that."

"See, that's the thing," Dean continues. I can hear a slight lilt in his voice, almost like he's smiling while he talks, but I still can't see his face. Either way, it doesn't sound like the right kind of smile. "Bela made a deal with a demon ten years ago. A crossroads deal. Her bill was coming due and she got scared; started trying to get out of it. The demon who owns her soul said that if she got the Colt for them, they'd reconsider. So she handed it over."

"And…?" Bobby prompts.

Dean shrugs. "And they're demons. So they lied."

I hesitate. "So she's…"

"She's dead," Dean confirms, finally turning to look at Bobby and me. His expression is completely unreadable, eyes blank. He walks out of the room. Comes back with another beer. Bobby and I share a look.

"Dean…" I say, drawing out his name while I decide what to say next. I don't get a chance to though, because Dean speaks up again.

"Lilith."

"What?" Bobby and I both ask.

"Lilith," he repeats, tapping his beer against his leg to the rhythm of a song the rest of us can't hear. "That's who owns my soul. She owned Bela's too, keeps all the contracts. Bela told me before…"

Dean inclines his head, urging us to fill in the blank on our own.

"Okay, so this is good," I say, and Dean scoffs.

"No really," I insist. "This is good. We've got Ruby's knife and just enough time to figure out where Lilith's hiding out so we can go after her and finish this. We've got a direction now. We've got a plan."

"So what is this brilliant plan, exactly?" Dean asks. He's stopped pacing finally and is now leaning back against Bobby's bookshelf, arms crossed with his beer hanging in one hand. He rolls that wrist as he talks, punctuating his words with the disjointed movements of the bottle. "What, we just roll in with one little knife and try to take on one of the most powerful demons we've ever come across? Oh, and did you also forget that this is the same Lilith who wants you skewered and deep-fried?"

"First of all, if you skewer something, you're probably not gonna deep-fry it. That'd be weird. You'd just grill it or something. And secondly: So what?" I reply.

Dean blinks at me, vexed. "What?"

"I said, 'so what,'" I repeat. "Lilith's out there looking for me regardless. So if we take her down, you don't go to Hell and I don't have a target on my back anymore. It's a win-win."

"Your brother makes a valid point, Dean," Bobby cuts in, rising from his chair. I follow suit. "Now that we've got the name, I can do a location spell to find out where Lilith's holed up; we'd head out by morning."

Dean is already shaking his head before Bobby's done speaking. He sets his beer down behind him and pushes his palms into the bookshelf he's leaning against and lets it take his weight, falling back onto his heels. The wood creaks under the pressure and he pushes off from it altogether a moment later, bringing his hands in front of him. There are small indents along his palms where they dug into the wood. "Great," he says sarcastically. "That still leaves us with the small issue of how on earth we can kill a demon like Lilith with a knife like Ruby's. I'm sorry, but I just don't see it happening."

"So we summon Ruby, ask her to help," I shrug, watching Dean's shoulders tense and roll.

"No, Sam."

"Why the hell not? She's probably gonna show up anyway to get her knife back. Surprised she hasn't already seeing as she was supposed to come back the day after she gave it to us. We can ask her then. It's the smartest option we have and you know it," I say, jabbing a finger in my brother's direction for added effect. He rolls his eyes and picks up his beer.

"Sam, she can't find us with the hex bags, so there's no way she'll show up. Which means we can keep the knife. Which means we don't need her."

"Dean…"

"Sam, this isn't up for debate, and it doesn't matter anyway because…" Dean is cut off by a stunted pounding on Bobby's front door. All three of us freeze.

"Expecting someone?" Dean hisses, bottle suddenly replaced with the gun that was stuffed into the back of his jeans a few seconds ago. Bobby shakes his head, and we all move silently towards the door, Bobby and I picking up our guns along the way. Dean takes the lead, slowly leaning in until he can see through the peephole. He shoves back from the door a second later with a resigned sigh.

"Speak of the devil," he growls, unfastening Bobby's extra locks and swinging the door open.

It's Ruby.

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