Ellen walked into the bar from the back. It was long past closing time, and for the past hour Dean had sat at the bar alone, drinking beer and trying not to think too much.

"They're asleep," Ellen commented, walking behind the counter and grabbing a mug to fill with beer at the tap. She leaned against the bar across from him with her drink, sighing and running one hand back through her hair.

Dean nodded in response to her comment, finishing off his own mug of amber liquid. "That's good," he said, grabbing his jacket off the bar stool next to him and digging a wad of cash out of a pocket. He slapped ten bucks down on the bar. "Glad they're gonna be all right," he said, getting up and turning to go.

"Dean," Ellen said, her voice hard enough to halt his progress toward the door. "You don't have to leave."

Dean turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. "Why would I stay?" he asked. "My family only brings pain to yours. Your husband died because of my father. I can't even imagine how you and Jo must've suffered through the years because of us..."

Ellen sighed, taking a drink and patting the bar with an open palm. "Come sit down and talk to me, boy. We have things to discuss, you and I."

Dean hesitated, and then reluctantly obeyed. He sat down, watching as Ellen refilled his beer and slid it to him, pushing his money back along with it. He didn't reach for either the drink or the cash.

"Now listen," Ellen began, leaning toward him on her elbows. "I know I've been hard on you Winchester boys in the past, but that doesn't mean I was right. Sometimes I can't help but be angry with John for what happened to Bill, but considering they're both dead now, there ain't much use in reminiscing over things that can't be changed. Besides, as foggy as the details have remained through the years due to Jo's frustratingly tight lips, I suspect that our families aren't as distinctly separate as they once were. Do you agree, Dean?" she asked, eyeing him grimly while taking a drink.

Dean crossed his arms over his chest and cleared his throat, wishing he could find something to look at that wasn't Ellen's face. She was intelligent, and sometimes in the past he'd found himself a little afraid of what she—or some friend of hers—could do to him. "She never told me for sure one way or another," he replied, trying to be careful with his words. "But I have a feeling you could possibly be right."

Ellen nodded. "So," she began, arching one eyebrow at him. "What are your intentions regarding my daughter and grandson, Dean Winchester?"

Dean lowered his gaze to the bar, unsure of what to say. His whole world had been dark for a long time, and he didn't know how to make things right. "I'm a good soldier," he confessed. "Not so good at being a brother, or a son—but I can take orders, and I can fight, and lie, and cheat, and steal. And I'm not afraid to die," he said, finally finding the strength to look her in the eye. "About the only thing I am afraid of is not having anyone to die for," he confessed softly, his tone bearing the despair plaguing him.

Ellen's eyes narrowed in contemplation, letting her chin come to rest on one fist. "Well, I could do without the talk about dying—and the lying, hustling, and credit fraud... But, I'm pretty sure I can work with the taking orders part. Just as long as you aren't too picky about whom you're taking orders from."

Dean couldn't help letting a grim smirk shape his features for just a second. "Yes, ma'am," he replied, giving her a mock-salute.

Ellen returned the small smile, straightening up and taking her mug with her. "Drink your beer, Dean. Then go to bed. That's an order." With that she turned, leaving him alone to think over the things she'd said to him.

Dean walked into the room he used to share with Sam when they'd stop at the Roadhouse. Though it was located in virtually the same spot, it was a hell of a lot nicer than the original room they'd stayed in before the bar was rebuilt.

He quickly shed his clothes, down to his undershirt and boxers, groaning softly as he collapsed on the bed nearest the door.

Jo sat up in the bed Sam usually took, looking around with sleep-filled eyes. "Dean?" she whispered, looking over at him.

"Shit, is this your room now?" he whispered back, preparing to get up and collect his clothes.

"No, no, it's fine," she said. "Will's in my room. I usually bunk with him, but I swear he's grown six inches since the last time we came here. We definitely don't fit in the same bed anymore."

Dean did some mental math, calculating Will's approximate age. "Growth spurt, huh? That sounds about right for a...boy his age." He wanted to smack himself. He'd almost said ' Winchester' in reference to Will. As much as he wanted to take on some form of responsibility in Will's life, the boy's surname was still Harvelle—and for good reason.

In spite of his lapse, he could hear Jo chuckling. "I keep forgetting," she said. "I forget that you probably know the puberty milestones and the inner workings of his mind better than I do. It's been hard for me, not knowing what to expect raising a son. You're practically an expert, and it's nice—to be able to talk with someone who can translate the awkwardness for me," she said, smiling sadly to herself.

Dean slowly sat up, turning to sit cross-legged on his bed, facing her and picking at the fraying hem on his shorts. "I know it doesn't mean much now, but I'm sorry for throwing you out that day, Jo. I regretted it—a lot."

She shook her head, still smiling a little. "Don't worry about it. I think back on the relationship we had then, and sometimes it just makes me squirm. I mean, seriously, do you remember the first time we met? Or the second? Or that hunt I tagged along on? I had such a huge thing for you, and it was like you had jail-bait radar or something, because within five seconds of meeting me I think you could tell I was just a kid, and I was trying to grow up too fast. I remember the things I used to say to you, and I just want to go back in time and slap myself for being so naïve," she admitted, rubbing at her eyes with one hand and laughing nervously while she blushed a deep red.

Dean's brow furrowed a little as he tried to process her hasty admission. "You think that's why I turned you and Will away?" he asked. "Because I thought you were too young for me?"

Jo shook her head. "No. I don't know. Maybe? I mean—I was closer to Sam in age, and closer to a high school senior in maturity. I actually wasn't surprised when you freaked out in the hospital that day," she explained. "I knew you'd been through a lot, and I didn't want to spring Will on you then—right after you'd gone through so much trauma, and pain. I was just scared I wouldn't be able to find you again for years, and I thought maybe if you knew—you'd come around to the idea of it after a while."

Dean sighed, scrubbing at his short hair with his fingertips. "Yeah, well, I guess you could say I'm sort of coming around to the idea of it now. I'm just kind of afraid it might be too late," he said, wondering if he'd ever have the guts to set her straight on all things she'd gotten wrong about him.

Jo actually thought he'd been trying to protect her—because he was more mature than she'd been. She had no idea that he'd just been too jaded to mess around with her. Plus, he hadn't wanted to piss off her mother and lose the Roadhouse as a source for research. Back then, he probably could've dealt with stringing Jo along in a farce of a relationship without feeling too guilty about it. He just hadn't, and once he started looking at her as off-limits, eventually he started to see her as something of a sidekick. The pain-in-the-ass little sister he would've had if Sam had been born a girl—except she had a burning desire to hunt for a living...

Jo had certainly gotten on his nerves, but he'd still liked her even when she was a spit-fire little squirt.

Things had changed since then, though. He'd grown even more jaded, and so had she.

Jo rose from her bed, padding over to sit down beside him on his bed, drawing her legs up and under her. "Whatever happens, I just want to thank you," she said, holding out her hand for him to shake. "Thank you so much for saving my son. You have no idea what it means to me."

Dean eyed her for a moment before reaching out to shake her hand. "You're welcome," he told her.

Jo smiled, moving to go back to her own bed when he caught her arm, squeezing gently. "Stay with me?" he asked. "I promise I'll keep my hands to myself—it's just, it's been a while since I had any human contact. I—I don't sleep too good anymore. Unless I'm, you know, smashed." He smirked guiltily.

She nodded, and after some awkward repositioning, they settled in, both laying on their backs, looking at the ceiling. They laid like that for a long moment, barely touching. Then they both started laughing.

"I don't know if this is going to work," Jo giggled, trying to move over to give him more room.

Dean mock-cleared his throat, trying to find a place to let his left arm come to rest, and finding none until Jo grabbed his wrist and pulled his arm behind her head, using it as a pillow.

She chuckled, smiling mischievously. "I forgot how big a guy you are," she said. "No offense, but you always looked kinda...short...next to Sam." She tried to stifle further laughing, but couldn't.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like I haven't heard that one before," he said.

Jo smacked herself on the forehead, groaning in embarrassment. "Yeah. That was one of those naïve things I should've kept to myself, wasn't it?" she asked, blushing again.

Dean smiled evilly. "It doesn't just scare me when your mom gets angry. Sometimes, it turns me on," he confessed.

Jo's mouth dropped open, but her eyes continued to sparkle with amusement. "You jerk!" she accused, play-smacking his side.

Dean took on an accosted look, his eyes going wide. "What? Wasn't I supposed to say that?" he asked, grinning when she grabbed the pillow and pretended to smother him with it.

"You're terrible," she laughed, shrieking when he grabbed her waist, pulling her across his body, and overestimating the amount of room he had to work with for their little wrestling match. They tumbled off the bed, and the hard landing cut off their laughter momentarily.

For a long second they were completely silent, tangled up in the sheets and each other.

"Holy shit. Do you think anyone heard that?" Dean asked, starting to chuckle when Jo burst out laughing at his comment.

She tried to muffle her laughter against his shoulder, gasping when the door to their room began to creak open.

"Do you think you could at least try to keep it down? Your son is sleeping down the hall," Ellen whispered harshly from the doorway.

A short burst of laughter escaped Jo before she could collect herself, forcing her face to straighten. Dean found himself immensely fascinated by the pattern on the bedspread that had fallen to the floor with them when they fell.

"Yes, ma'am," Jo replied obediently, and a moment later the door swung shut once again.

"Awkward," Dean deadpanned after they heard Ellen's footsteps fade away down the hall.

Jo sighed, but she didn't disagree. She did start to smile again after a moment, and then broke into muffled laughter. "I'm—I'm sorry," she managed. "I'm not usually such a basket case, but it's such a relief..."

She got cut off when he kissed her. It was a sweet kiss. Almost hesitant, until she committed to kissing him back. Then he laced his fingers through her soft hair, and their chaste lip-lock turned warm, and passionate.

Dean hadn't felt passionate about anything for a long time. He'd started to think he might never feel good about anything ever again.

Fifteen years ago he never would've guessed it might work between him and Jo. He still didn't know if it could work, but he did know one thing—he wouldn't have to lie to her. He wouldn't feel like a freak with a huge secret he had to keep hidden.

Jo knew everything, and maybe they could manage to not drive each other crazy.

Him, Will, Jo, and Ellen. They were all freaks. Maybe if they tried hard enough, they could be a family.

After all, freaks should stick together.

AN: Thank you so much to the people who're still reading this, especially the ones who review every chapter. The feedback means so much to me, and I'm sorry I don't get chapters of this posted as quickly as I should. The story isn't quite over, so I hope everyone sticks with me here. I'm kind of getting back into my writing mode, so hopefully the next chapter will be up within the week.

Thanks again!

Dean: "Hey, look at this one. I'll bet this one could really hump the crap out of your leg. Huh? Huh?"

Sam: Shoots Dean a death glare.

Dean: "What? It totally could. Look at it."

-Conversation about Black Dogs in Season 2