Author's Note: Hey all! Hope everyone had an awesome July 1st and July 4th (depending on where you're from). I just got in from work and wanted to get this one posted. It's enormous, I know, I'm sorry. I was originally gonna post it in 2 parts but just decided to get 'er done! A BIG THANKS and a gigantic hug goes out to skag trendy who took time away from writing her own wonderful stories (which I'm truly addicted to) to take a first look at this for me-I wasn't sure about this one at first and having her opinion was invaluable. So thank you, darling! This one's for you :)

Disclaimer: Still not mine. If they were, season 6 would've started AS SOON AS season 5 ended...none of this 'waiting for months' stuff.

*frowns*

R is for Regret

Regret: feeling sorry for something; mourning for something previously done or something not done; feeling a sense of loss.

The house was almost eerily quiet—the crackling fire in the grate accompanied by the occasional sound of a page turning or someone sniffling.

The three of them had been huddled in the darkened library for nearly an hour and Dean had admitted to himself quite some time before that he was damn exhausted. He didn't even have the energy to be bored.

After nearly fourteen hours of solid driving they'd arrived tired and haggard on Bobby's front doorstep that morning, schlepping their bags and dragging their feet. The blitz had lasted nearly three weeks—one job quite literally after another—and both brothers had long-since started feeling the effects; bruised ribs and a minor concussion for Sam…a dislocated shoulder, a nasty scalp laceration and a minorly rigid abdomen for Dean. They'd patched each other up as best they could and then hit the road, calling Bobby on the way and letting him know they were coming in clipped. The old man had come through for them, meeting them outside and helping a weary Sam direct an even wearier Dean through the front door.

Dean had been placed on the couch and he'd stayed there all day, drifting in and out of sleep as Sam situated himself in the over-stuffed armchair with a book by the fireplace. Every few minutes the younger man's hazel eyes drifted over, soft and concerned. Every half hour he would ask gently if Dean was alright, and despite being tired and incredibly lazy, he would always respond—"I'm ok, Sammy. Just restin' my eyes."

Truth was his entire body was sore. His arms, his legs, his stomach…hell, even his hair hurt.

But that little tidbit was his own secret to keep.

It was then that Bobby wandered in, groaning as he plunkered himself down in the chair beside Sam. "You'd think I was a goddamn dispatch center, for cryin' out loud."

"Dispatch center?" Dean opened his eyes and looked over. "What the hell are you talkin' about?"

"Was just on the phone with Carl down in Little Rock."

"Yeah?"

"Says he's heard rumour of somethin' supernatural in Southern Arkansas; wanted to know if there were any hunters around there."

Dean frowned. "He can't go himself?"

"Apparently?" Bobby made a face. "He's retired."

Sam shook his head while Dean merely frowned even more. "Retired?

"That's what he said. Says he's outta the game, doesn't want anythin' else to do with it."

Sam sighed, "Well, that I can understand."

"Guys like us don't get outta the game, Bobby." Dean sighed as he pushed himself into a sitting position, ignoring the sharp pain that radiated up his side. "We either stay sharp or we bite it."

"Nice, Dean."

"Well, it's true, isn't it?" He glanced over at his little brother. "Seriously, dude; when have you ever heard of a hunter droppin' out and stayin' out?"

The two stared at each other for a second before Sam sighed again, shrugging a shoulder.

"Exactly. Once you're into all this crap, there's no chance you can just ignore it."

"Doesn't stop you from wanting to try though. Does it?"

Bobby let out a tired groan and leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms over his chest. "Yeah, well, this guy's been talkin' about droppin' out for years." He glanced at each brother in turn. "He lost his little girl about three years ago to a werewolf in Carson; swore that once he hunted the bastard down, he'd be done."

"Did he?"

"Did he what?"

"Find the werewolf."

Bobby nodded. "Last year—'bout a month before you two showed up durin' all that demon business with your daddy."

At the seemingly casual mention of their father, all Dean could do was swallow past the lump that had formed deep down in his throat. It'd been just over a year since they'd burned John Winchester's body but it still felt like they'd watched the man die only hours before.

On the incredibly short list of things that scared the now eldest Winchester, hospitals had shot to the very top.

Hence why he and Sam had both come to Bobby's to heal as opposed to going where the good drugs and pretty nurses were. Even a year later, he still could hardly stand crossing the threshold of a hospital emergency room.

Dean was no stranger to loss. He understood why a man would spend years chasing after a single werewolf; it was the same reason his dad had been chasing after the yellow-eyed demon…why he had and why Sam had. The same reason why killing the son of a bitch had been one of the most satisfying moments of his entire life.

You destroy my life, I'll take yours.

Revenge.

Jesus, he was starting to sound like his dad.

Dean could tell that Sam had thought the same thing and had ended up at the same conclusion—the murder of their mother, the death of their father, the murder of Sam…and Dean's prolonged suicide.

The deal.

Not tonight.

Dean cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Ok, so what's goin' on in Arkansas?"

"Oh who knows," Bobby nearly growled, "Carl's a damn fool, you ask me. Sees monsters everywhere he goes. Wild imagination."

Sam put in, "Anyone near him that can take it?"

"There's always guys hangin' around. I'll make a couple calls first thing in the morning."

The words hadn't even left Bobby's mouth and there was a tremendous crash of thunder, strong enough to make the windows rattle in their wooden frames. The lightening followed seconds later and lit up the entire room before disappearing and plunging them back into the firelight.

"Whoa."

Bobby sighed. "I guess this is the rain they've been natterin' about all damn day." He looked to Dean. "Sure hope the windows are up in your car."

"Sammy?"

"I took care of it, Dean."

He sent the kid a small smile. Thanks.

"Either you boys hungry?"

It was then that the frantic knock came.

Barely heard over a second thundercrash, it had a tinge of desperation to it. The three men glanced at each other before Bobby pushed himself from his perch and headed down the hallway towards the front door, switching on lights as he went.

Dean gingerly got up from the couch and frowned as he and Sam walked together, side by side into the darkened corridor. From where they were standing they watched as Bobby pulled open the front door—the cool and damp breeze from outside making Dean shiver. And there, completely soaking wet and visibly freezing stood a teenage girl; she was no older than twenty, holding a set of car keys in her hand as if they were her very lifeline.

"Cheyanne?"

The surprise in Bobby's voice was clear but neither brother had time to really process it. The girl stepped into the house and walked right into Bobby's open arms, moulding herself to his chest and crying with such force that Dean was amazed she managed to stay on her feet. Bobby immediately returned her embrace and pulled her further into the house and out of the cold. His hand went right to her rain-soaked hair, smoothing it down and soothing her with whispered words and a tight hug.

An elbow was shoved into Dean's side and he turned, locking eyes with a confused looking Sam. With just his face, Dean sent the kid an answering message—don't ask me man, I got no clue.

Even though he had no idea who this girl was, he couldn't deny that there was something familiar about her. Her eyes, which he could see even from where he was standing, were the most electric blue he'd ever seen…in fact, he'd only ever seen one other person with eyes like that.

He swallowed hard.

"Cheyanne, what in hell's blazes are you doin' here?"

The girl continued to cry and it looked like it only took a minute for Bobby to make the decision. "Alright, into the library by the fire before you die of cold."

He kicked the front door closed effectively cutting off the sound of the torrential downpour and kept the young girl tight to his side, starting back down the hall. Grabbing a handful of Sam's shirt sleeve, Dean pulled him close as the older hunter squeezed passed them, leaving a trail of wet footprints as they went.

"Dean?"

He looked over to Sam with raised eyebrows.

"You know who that is?"

"No idea," he nodded back towards the library. "Come on."

When they walked back in, they found that Bobby had situated the girl on the sofa with a blanket and was sitting beside her, rubbing her arms through the thick material as if trying to warm her with friction.

Sam eyed her sympathetically before making his way back over to the armchair. He motioned for Dean to sit and the moment the older man's butt hit the cushion, he gingerly settled himself down onto the right arm, letting out a slow breath.

The two of them watched as the girl's face pinked up slightly, the warmth returning to her cheeks after being outside in the rain for so long. Bobby spoke to her quietly, "Cheyanne, what the hell are you doin' showin' up here on your own at this time of night?"

She sniffled. "I drove here."

"You drove here?" Bobby blinked. "In whose car?"

"The Mustang."

Bobby's eyes seemed to widen slightly and he pulled away from her, gripping her by the upper arms and giving her a slight shake. "In your sister's car? Where the hell is she?"

One of Cheyanne's small hands appeared from under the folds of the blanket. She was holding out the car keys and gave a small whimper when Bobby gently took them. "She'll….want those back."

"Cheyanne, where is Julie?"

Dean's breath caught in his chest.

Julie Connor.

It all came rushing back, hitting him like a sledgehammer.

They were eight. Gentle and fragile arms wound around him as the two of them shared a blanket in the darkened living room; her honey-coloured hair tickled his nose and smelled of coconuts. Sam tiredly scurried up onto the couch and forced his way between them, looking for a big brother's warmth.

They were ten. He held her hand as they walked up to the wrinkled little creature wrapped in a pink blanket, staring out at them with big wide eyes and flushed cheeks. His dad chuckled from the other side of the room. "She's beautiful, Jake. Looks just like her mother." There was another laugh, a feminine laugh, and the woman holding the baby smiled down at the two of them. "Really, John? I was thinking she looked more like her big sister."

They were fifteen. The very second her lips touched his there was an explosion of light behind his closed eyes…a burst of emotion that he'd never felt before with a girl. Only with Jewel. It would be years before he had that feeling again.

Dean swallowed thickly and directed his eyes once again to the teenager. Now that his mind had connected the dots the resemblance between Cheyanne and her sister was striking. It was as if he was looking at a younger version of the oldest Connor girl…and something deep inside started to hurt.

Sam must've sensed something because his shoulder made gentle and reassuring contact with Dean's.

Sammy.

Cheyanne's upset voice managed to break through.

"We were down in Chamberlain. Julie's been following omens for weeks and they led us there—"

Sam spoke up, "Demon omens?"

The girl nodded. "Cattle deaths, electrical storms—"

Dean tried to ignore how sad it was that a teenager knew things like that. But then that'd been his and Sam's adolescence too.

"We got to Chamberlain yesterday morning. Julie found out that the demon was possessing some math teacher from the high school and she left to go find her around five."

"Today?"

She nodded again.

Bobby sighed quietly. "Then what?"

"She left me the car keys and told me that if she wasn't back by eight, she wanted me to take the car and come here." Cheyanne's eyes filled with tears and her voice broke. "She never came back."

Dean felt his hands clench against his will.

She was such an emotional train wreck over the entire thing that Bobby wrapped the blanket even tighter around her and sent the boys a look, silently asking if they minded giving up their room. They both shook their heads in unison and when Bobby escorted a sobbing Cheyanne slowly up the stairs, Sam followed, returning moments later with their three duffels.

Dean stood from the chair cradling his aching shoulder and let out a breath, moving towards the far window. There was another flash of lightening and just as he'd done when he was a kid he counted the number of seconds until the thunder hit, strong enough to shock his eardrums.

"Ten seconds." Sam said quietly from across the room.

"Yeah, storm's about two miles away."

"I remember you teaching me that when we were kids."

Dean couldn't help the small smile. "You weren't afraid of storms after that. You had too much fun figurin' out the math."

"I carried a calculator around for months."

The smile grew.

"Hey Dean?"

"Yeah."

"Uh," Sam hesitated slightly. "Somethin' tells me you know this girl better than she knows you."

He looked over his shoulder. "What do you mean?"

"Cheyanne and her sister? Julie?" Sam shrugged a shoulder. He wasn't judging…he was merely curious. Concerned. "Do you know them or something?"

Of course he doesn't remember.

"Yeah. Well, Julie anyway." He raised a hand and gently, very gently massaged his shoulder. It throbbed and smarted and Dean once again thought about asking for some of Bobby's heavy duty pain meds. He gritted his teeth for a moment. "You were pretty young when we first met them. Dad was pals with their parents. You don't remember at all?"

There was silence for a moment, then, "I remember a big ass station wagon."

Dean couldn't help but chuckle a bit. "Yeah, damn thing was a tank. It was their mom's car. She could hardly drive it."

"You seemed to tense up when Bobby mentioned Julie's name. You two have a thing?"

"I was fifteen the last time I saw her, man."

"Yeah, so, this is you we're talking about," there was a smile in Sam's voice, "So I ask again, did you two have a thing?"

Had it been a thing?

The two hunting families hadn't seen each other all that often, the Winchesters and the Connors, but when they had gotten together the memories were all good ones; hot and crumbly apple-caramel pie, poker lessons, Led Zeppelin versus the Beatles, not to mention hunting stories that could go on for hours at a time.

And then there'd been Julie; soft skin, a deeply rooted love for hard rock, the only teenage girl for miles that had found the Impala as…appealing as he himself had.

He'd always loved her, but never the way he'd loved Meaghan Wilcox or Melissa Cutting. Those girls he'd snuck into the backseat of his dad's Chevy; Julie on the other hand would lay next to him on the hood and argue the finer points of football or complain about that one diner along Colorado's interstate that served tuna surprise on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

She'd lived a life similar to his own and he'd loved her for it.

It wasn't until just after his fifteenth birthday, and the conversation on the hood of the Impala that had turned into the greatest kiss of his teenage existence, that his feelings had rebelled against him. Suddenly she was a girl, a very attractive girl.

A girl that knew what it was like to be an older sibling while at the same time was still trying to figure out how to be an unofficial parent.

It'd been one kiss.

And then they'd left—Jake and Abigail Connor loading the car and tossing Julie and the then five year old Cheyanne into the backseat, pulling out of the small parking lot of the motel where they'd all been staying.

That had been the last time Dean had heard of Julie Connor.

Until a drenched and crying Cheyanne had shown up on Bobby's doorstep.

He could hear Sam saying his name but didn't fully return to reality until he felt the tap on his uninjured shoulder. "Dean?"

"Yeah," he cleared his throat. "Uh, I don't think it was a thing. It just…was."

"Ooook. What's that mean?"

"Old man Connor and dad used to hook up all the time and go on hunts together. It's not like we saw each other all that often, hell, you barely even remember them." Dean shrugged. "Just a girl, dude…that's it."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Dean sensed Sam open his mouth to continue the conversation but when Bobby stomped his way back into the library both brothers turned their serious but curious eyes to him, mouths shut. It was Sammy who spoke first, "She ok?"

"For now, I guess. Just hope the girl can get some sleep up there." He looked pointedly over to Dean. "That girl and her sister ringin' any bells for you?"

Dean nodded tightly in response.

"Too many. Where are her parents?"

Bobby's shoulders visibly slumped. "Jake and Abigail died eight years ago—" both brothers recoiled slightly in surprise. "Car accident couple miles outside of Wichita. Julie was twenty-two, Cheyanne was twelve. They've been on their own ever since."

Fuckin' Kansas.

Dean shook his head and breathed a bitter laugh.

Sam seemed to understand what he was thinking because he looked down towards the floor. "Wow."

"Yeah. Julie'd already been huntin' for a while by then and she kinda…slipped right into it. Cheyanne does what she can to help out with the research part of it. Abigail never wanted her girls huntin' so Julie tries to keep the kid out of it as much as she can."

"Was it a supernatural that caused the accident?"

"They never found out. Tanker truck t-boned them in an intersection, damn near broke the car in half. By the time the cops got there the driver had taken off."

In a painfully quiet voice, Sam said, "Sounds familiar."

"Or maybe it was nothin' more than some long-distance driver that fell asleep at the wheel. Cops never found the guy, stopped lookin' after a couple months."

"She tell you anymore about the job they were workin' on?"

Bobby nodded, eyes locked on Dean's as he sat himself down behind his desk. "Cheyanne said that before she bolted, she grabbed all Julie's notes on the case. They're out in the car. Doors are unlocked."

Dean didn't even hesitate, shooting a quick glance at Sam as he left the library and headed down the hallway, out the front door, down the front steps and into the rain.

The black Mustang—'67 Shelby, if he knew anything at all—was sitting parked rather haphazardly close to his own car. Mud covered nearly the entire front end as well as directly behind the wheel wells, signifying Cheyanne's hurry when she'd been driving.

Despite the fact that it was chilly outside, the rain soothed his shoulder as it quickly soaked through the material of his outer shirt and then the black t-shirt underneath. It was numbing, cooling, and he shivered.

He approached the Mustang quickly and pulled the passenger door open.

Sitting there on the black leather seat was an enormous laptop case as well as a small grey duffel bag. Dean stood and stared for a second before grabbing both and pushing the door closed, trying to ignore the truly gripping scent of coconuts and leather that filled the interior of the car.

She smiled at him, eyes bright. "One day, I swear, I'm gonna have one."

"Oh yeah? What colour?"

"I dunno. Probably black…like your dad's car." Resting her head on his shoulder, she looked up at him. "What do you think?"

He couldn't help but return the smile, taking a deep breath.

"Sounds good."

His boots slid alarmingly in the thick mud that had become Bobby's driveway and when he reached the porch he felt goosebumps explode on his skin. Looking over his shoulder at the Mustang one last time, he let himself back into the house.

The heat of the library strangely enough made him shiver again as he dropped the computer case and the duffel onto the coffee table next to where Sam was sitting.

Sam looked up at him and Dean forced a smirk.

"Get to work, Poindexter."

"So this demon's been ridin' people all over lower forty—Chamberlain, Sioux Falls…even a couple people up in Gettysburg. The entire state's lit up with omens."

"How do you know it's just the one?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't. But I'm really, really hoping it's just one." Dean merely blinked. "Julie's notes are outrageous. She's been tracking this one demon for the past week; wrote down nearly every move it's made."

"You see a pattern?"

"As far as I can tell, it moves in between those three towns—Chamberlain, Sioux Falls and Gettysburg. According to the notes, it moves clockwise…so…it most recently hit Chamberlain—"

"So we're goin' to Gettysburg." Dean sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Two hour drive."

There was a short silence and then Sam looked to Bobby. "Does Julie wear an anti-possession charm?"

"Far as I know."

"But if the demon's got enough juice, it can overthrow a charm like that. Right?"

All Bobby did was nod.

"There's no way she'd leave Cheyanne on her own and she would've called if she couldn't get back in time." Dean shook his head. "Somethin' happened."

"Are we going out there, Dean?"

Looking directly into the still flickering flames, Dean once again started subconsciously rubbing his sore shoulder. "Yeah," he said quietly, "we're goin'."

His watch told him that it was just about two-thirty in the morning as Dean quietly climbed the rickety old staircase.

Sam had been horrified when he'd realized that the keys to the Impala and Dean's jacket had been abandoned in their bedroom when he'd initially gone to retrieve their duffel bags. He'd volunteered to go but Dean had waved him off, preferring to retrieve the sacred items himself.

His boots made a light noise on the floorboards of the upstairs hallway and when he entered the bedroom, he did it as quietly as he could. Cheyanne was lying on what was usually Sam's bed; her hair was fanned out across the pillow…and her shoulder was quivering and shaking. Even in the darkness he could see it.

She was crying.

Ah hell.

Looking longingly at his leather jacket which was draped over the wooden chair near the far window, he changed course, moving to stand in between the two beds instead.

Now that he was closer to her, he could hear her quiet sobs. Her fingers were clutching at the pillowcase tightly as if looking for an anchor, something with which to comfort herself.

Swallowing awkwardly, he asked, "You doin' ok?"

For a moment he didn't think she was going to answer. But she sniffled and then turned to look at him over her shoulder, those familiar piercing blue eyes seeming to stare right through him.

It was a familiar feeling.

Quietly, she said, "Can't sleep."

Simply because he didn't know what else to do with them, Dean crossed his arms over his chest, letting out a breath through his nose. "Me and my brother…we're gonna go get Julie." At those words she looked at him again. "We figure the demon's headin' to Gettysburg. We're gonna track it down there."

Her brow furrowed and he could read the question in her expression. Hunters?

The corner of his mouth lifted. "Yeah. Our whole lives."

"Guess I should've figured," She turned onto her back and pushed herself into a sitting position, leaning back against the headboard. "I came in talking about demons, you guys didn't even blink."

"Let's just say we've been around the block a couple times."

She looked up at him and let out a watery laugh, "I can't seem to stop shaking."

It was obvious the girl was upset, shaken up. When your family consists of only you and one other person, the welfare of that person controls absolutely everything; your lungs, your heart, your legs, your stomach…even your nerves. If something threatens that one person, your entire body can rebel against you.

Dean knew that from personal experience.

"This the first time something like this has happened to you guys?"

The nod that she gave was both expected and unexpected.

He'd lost count of the number of times he'd nearly lost Sam since they'd both gotten into hunting full time—possession, angry spirits, bullet holes and knife wounds…internal bleeding, abduction, threats of Columbian neckties. It was a normal occurrence for one brother to have to rescue the other, and it was usually Dean that had to do the rescuing (seeing as how little Sammy had gigantic kidnap me and damage me signs on his back).

Julie had obviously done a good job with her most prized possession.

A better job than Dean himself had.

"Julie's careful. She tries to…keep me away from everything." Cheyanne laughed again. "It drives me crazy sometimes."

Sounds just like Sammy.

The corner of his mouth lifted again.

"She's in trouble, isn't she."

Dean raised his eyes and locked them with hers, feeling the smile slowly melt away from his face. Yeah, he wanted to say, she is. "We won't really know 'til we get out there."

"Are you going tonight?"

Bobby wanted them to wait until morning, give themselves a few more hours to rest up and get themselves together…Sam would follow Dean's lead…and Dean would've already been in the car if it had been possible.

"Yeah," he said seriously, honestly. "we're goin' tonight."

"I wanna come with you."

"No—"

"I can't just sit here and wait." Her eyes narrowed as she leaned forward, resting her arms on her crossed legs. "This is my sister."

Oh jeez.

He sighed, lowering himself slowly onto the edge of his own bed. "Trust me, Cheyanne, I hear you." He leaned a little closer. "I'd wanna go too, if I was you. But if Julie is in trouble, it's better if you stay here—"

"Why?"

"'Cause she'll kick my ass if I let you anywhere near this."

"You talk as if you know her."

The skin of Dean's cheek started to tingle from the phantom feeling of her fingertips and he blinked, trying to clear the fog.

"Well…I kinda do."

"How?"

"It's sort of a long story."

Her brow furrowed again. "What's your name?"

"Dean—" He motioned towards the hallway where he'd come from. "My brother's Sam."

"Dean and Sam?"

"Winchester."

"Dean and Sam Winchester." Cheyanne seemed to ponder that for a second before her brow smoothed out, her eyes immediately going back to Dean's face. "She talked about you. Julie did."

"She did?"

"Not a lot, but every once in a while."

Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah, our dads used to hunt together."

"She told me once about a banshee in Ohio?"

He couldn't help it, he chuckled. "Yeah, your sister and me…we were fourteen."

"And you ran into a tree, right?"

"Somethin' like that." His smile grew when she let out a tiny snort. "We were with your dad and mine. Banshee came from around a corner, scared the hell outta me. Took off running."

"Right into a tree."

Dean bobbed his head. "Yep."

"Smooth."

"Yeah, your sister thought so, too. Cut my forehead. She gave me the prettiest set of stitches I've ever had."

Cheyanne smiled.

And that was like Julie, too.

The creak of hinges as Dean pushed closed the Impala's back door acted as a balm for his soul. It was reassuring and comforting; a reminder that he was alright, and more importantly, that Sam was alright. Everything was as it should be. At least for now.

Jesus Christ, his shoulder hurt like a bitch.

He rounded the back end of the car and joined Sam and Bobby on the passenger side, letting out a breath.

"There's an old warehouse at the intersection of Court and Mannston streets." Bobby told them both quietly. "I've used it once or twice. Still vacant, checked it out this morning. Plenty of space for you to lay down a Devil's Trap."

"You think we'll need one?"

"I know this girl. She wouldn't leave her sister alone for this long, not without callin' and checkin' on her." Sam nodded in response while Bobby sighed again. "Dean was right earlier, somethin' happened. I'd bet on it."

"But you said she wears an anti-possession charm?"

Dean shook his head, "She gave it to Cheyanne. The kid was wearin' two."

Bobby blinked.

"You're kiddin'."

"Wish I was, noticed it when I was upstairs. Julie probably thought it'd keep Cheyanne safe—two charms, double the protection."

Sam frowned. "Is that possible?"

"I guess it could be, with some of the lower-levels. But with the higher ups? Not a chance."

Dean directed his gaze down to the still muddied driveway.

There was still rain in the air; an electrical charge that only came with approaching or lingering thunderstorms. It was nearly three o'clock in the morning and the expression on Bobby's face was as obvious as anything—stay until sunrise, sleep, then head out first thing.

Dean shook his head again. "We're goin' now."

"Dean," he took a step closer and rested a hand pointedly on Dean's injured shoulder; it was more shock than anything else that caused the younger man to hiss and glare, pulling away from Bobby's touch. "You're tired and you're hurtin'. How much good do you think you boys are gonna do, worn out as you are?"

Dean still glared. "Guess we're gonna find out."

"Dean?"

Sam's foot pawed at the ground uncertainly, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "Maybe Bobby's right, man." Dean opened his mouth to talk but Sam beat him to it. "Look, I know you wanna go and deal with this, I don't blame you. But deny it as much as you want, you're not playing at a hundred—I'm not either. Waiting until morning isn't gonna change anything."

Deep down inside, Dean knew that his little brother was right.

The drive to Bobby's the day before had taken a lot out of him and he wasn't even going to try to swindle himself into believing that the trek to Gettysburg wouldn't completely drain whatever he had left in his tank. But he was angry, angsty and impatient as hell—he wouldn't be able to wait until sunrise, he'd lose it.

Maybe it was because he couldn't go jobless for longer than twenty-four hours without cabin fever setting in.

Or maybe it was the fact that there was an eighteen year old girl without her older sister.

Or maybe it was because it was Julie.

He didn't really know the real reason behind his irrational need to get in the car right then. All he knew was that the reason existed, it was there…and that it would drive him insane if he swallowed it.

Locking eyes with Sam, he spoke quietly, "I can't, Sammy."

Please.

The kid looked at him for the shortest instant but didn't question it, didn't ask him to explain it or justify anything. Dean had pulled him out of his comfy chair by the fireplace and was practically forcing him to slinky himself back into the passenger seat of the Impala…to embark on a two hour drive South…for a girl that Sam couldn't even remember.

But eventually, Sam nodded.

And Dean could've grabbed him and hugged him.

"You're hell-bent on gettin' yourself killed, aren't you?"

"And send myself downstairs ahead of schedule?" Dean smirked cheekily. "Come on, Bobby. Have a little faith."

Bobby somehow seemed to narrow his eyes and raise his eyebrows at the same time. "Oh, I got plenty. I just know you too well, that's all."

The three men exchanged a quick but heartfelt goodbye before each brother headed towards their respective side of the car.

Before sliding into the driver's seat, Dean for some reason felt the draw to look upwards—and there, in the bright window of what was usually their bedroom, sat Cheyanne.

For someone who was just shy of twenty years old, Cheyanne Connor seemed remarkably small; and for a girl that had been raised by hunters to be a hunter, she was as fragile as they came. He'd only needed to spend a minute with her to see that, it was as plain as day.

She still had an innocence to her that Dean knew her older sister had been protecting and coveting since before the death of their parents.

Much like he'd tried to do with his own kid sibling.

In the hunting world, innocence was nearly impossible to come by and Dean couldn't help but feel a wave of affection for the eighteen year old girl watching them from the upstairs window.

"Ok, so you wanna tell me what's going on in your head?"

The headlights of an approaching vehicle flashed across Dean's trained eyes and he settled further into his seat. "What do you mean?"

"What do I mean? I mean this…sudden and unexpected journey into the South Dakota wilderness."

"Just another job, Sammy."

Sam snorted. "I can't believe you just said that."

"Why?"

"Y'know, I've been thinking about it ever since Cheyanne showed up? I remember them more than I thought I did. Julie's dad caught you two together. That's why the contact stopped, right?"

It still poked and prodded at Dean's temper, even all those years later.

It was something he'd tried to forget, the memory of Jake Connor's face when he'd caught Dean and his oldest daughter together. They hadn't been doing anything besides sitting together on an old picnic table directly outside their shared motel; just talking, holding hands and sharing the occasional kiss or smile. Upon discovering them, Connor had packed up his family and thrown them all into their station wagon, shouting that neither of his daughters would ever be with a hunter. "They deserve better," he'd said.

He remembered his dad coming up behind him and little Sammy clinging to his side as he'd stood and watched the Connor family's exodus; a livid Jake behind the wheel and Julie in the backseat, her head resting against the window as the car had pulled away.

Now that he was older, Dean understood.

Julie did deserve better. She deserved a home, a permanent address, with furniture and neighbours and little nappy-headed kids playing and laughing in the living room. She deserved everything that Dean himself had never been destined to have and would never have been able to give her.

And even with all the one night stands he'd had, all the completely pointless and short-lived relationships…Julie Connor topped the very, very short list of girls that fell under the banner of one that got away, and she'd been on that list since he was fifteen.

He'd simply trained himself not to think of her.

"I remember how mad he was. Him and dad shouting at each other."

"It was a long time ago." Dean forced the words out and tried to sound casual, nonchalant. And because he'd perfected the act, it sounded exactly as he'd intended it to—cool and laid back, as if the memory hadn't been grating on his nerves for hours. "Never woulda gone anywhere anyway, dude, we were kids."

"You really believe that?"

"Yeah, I do. What, her and me end up the Ward and June of the hunting world?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"Not Ward and June, no. But maybe Bonnie and Clyde."

"We're not talkin' about this—" He reached down to the stereo, switching it on. "You're bein' an ass."

The opening notes of Zeppelin's Heartbreaker blasted through the car's speakers for about two seconds before Sam laughed and switched it off again. "Relax, dude, I was joking."

Dean didn't say a word.

A small silence fell in the car where the only sound was that of the Impala's engine, rumbling and growling just as she always did. Dean's fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel and he sighed, taking a quick glance in the rear-view mirror.

As always, it was Sammy that broke the silence.

"You think Julie's alright?"

Dean's somewhat clipped response startled even himself.

"I dunno. I hope so."

"Do we have a plan? I mean, how are we going to do this?"

"Same as always, I guess. Try to track her down; if we find her safe then we take out the demon and book back to Bobby's."

Sam's voice was gentle.

"And…if we don't find her safe?"

His fingers tightened around the steering wheel again.

"Then we hit that warehouse and put down a Devil's Trap."

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam nod his head before turning to look out his window.

And hope that this possession works out better than the last one.

The Impala crossed into Gettysburg, South Dakota just after four-thirty that morning, bringing with it the horrendous storms that had been hovering over Singer Salvage since just before midnight. A drive which would usually take two hours had taken Dean just an hour and a half, the weather having cleared all other traffic on the quiet back roads between Aberdeen and Gettysburg.

They'd found out from Cheyanne that the two sisters had been staying at the Sage Motel which was one of only two places to stay in the small town, and they were relieved to see the vacancy sign lit up and flashing when they pulled into the parking lot.

A small beam of light appeared suddenly in the passenger seat and Dean glanced over, watching as Sam used his small flashlight to scan over Julie's notes. After a second, he said, "They were staying in room number ten, and if Julie went off to hunt and never came back and Cheyanne just booked it…hopefully no one's been in there."

Dean didn't bother saying out loud how much he was hoping they forced their way in and found Julie asleep or seated at the table reading.

There was no point in saying it. Sam probably already knew what he was thinking anyway.

He pulled into the parking spot closest to room number ten and killed the engine, taking a quick glance over at the motel office. There was a light on inside but no one was peeking out to take a look and Dean felt himself relax just slightly.

There was a light rain falling against the windshield of the car and when the brothers stepped out, Dean felt a shiver travel up his back underneath the leather of his jacket. Sam stepped up onto the walkway and Dean followed his lead, the two making their way down the block of rooms to room number ten. Dean immediately tried the door, unsurprisingly finding it locked.

As if they'd done it a thousand times, Dean turned his back to the door and kept watch while Sammy knelt down just behind him, pulling his well-used lock pick from an inside pocket of his coat. When the lock clicked open mere seconds later they both went inside quickly, Sam pushing the door closed behind them.

Turning to look at the room, Dean sighed and pulled his hands from his jacket pockets.

Two double beds, the one closest to the door had a dark blue duffel bag sitting down near the footboard…the furthest one away was unmade, the covers twisted in a way only a teenager could manage. The curtains were pulled closed and the small lamp in between the beds had been left on. The bathroom door was closed.

"Looks like no one's been in here since Cheyanne left."

Dean nodded, still looking around closely. There was no threat in the room, hell, he'd known that the second they'd opened the door. But the room was cold…unfriendly; as if something had been in there and had left a chill behind.

He walked into the main room slowly, sending out a mental message to his brother not to move. Sam obeyed and stayed by the door, completely still, as Dean took a look around.

When she'd cleared out Cheyanne had grabbed most of her sister's notes as well as her own duffel bag but there were newspaper clippings pinned to various walls, stacks of research books on almost every surface. It was a typical hunter's motel room—only neater and with a definite feminine touch. A small pair of women's jeans thrown across the end of what Dean knew had been Julie's bed…a hair brush and a plain brown clip sitting on the bedside table…women's deodorant and two pairs of women's sneakers.

Dean headed towards the small wooden dining table and started sorting through the research texts, feeling Sam approach on his right side. "I don't know, Sammy."

"No?"

He moved one of the enormous but familiar books across the surface of the table and spotted it immediately.

Sulphur.

The even more familiar substance was sitting precariously on the very edge of the table and Dean narrowed his eyes, looking at it closely as he swiped some onto the tip of his finger. "The demon's been here." His voice was quiet, hard. "If it's riding Julie, it came back to this room."

"For what? Looking for little sister?"

Dean didn't say anything. He merely rubbed his fingers together in an effort to get rid of the grittiness.

It was the demon he was feeling—his skin was tingling and the fine hairs on the back of his neck were standing up. His entire body was like an EMF meter and his instincts were spiking.

"What are you thinking?"

Sam's voice broke through quietly, uncertainly, as if worried he was interrupting or throwing off Dean's thought process. He glanced at the kid over his shoulder and narrowed his eyes again, feeling strangely frustrated.

"This doesn't feel right." He refocused on the sulphur. "If this son of a bitch took Julie, it took her for a reason."

"A reason other than simply needing a meat suit?"

All I had to hold on to…was that I would climb out one day.

And then I was gonna torture you.

Nice and slow.

Like pulling the wings off an insect.

Dean forced himself to swallow hard, the memory still smarting even over a year later. "If a demon's being hunted, it won't take over the person hunting it unless it's got a reason."

"What kind of reason?"

"We're talkin' about demons, Sammy. Any reason'll work."

Softly, Sam sad, "Maybe this demon is to the Connors what Meg was to us?"

"Yeah, maybe."

Despite the fact that the room was a hunter's room through and through—spare clothes, spare shoes, books, newspaper articles—Dean's keen eyes caught something missing. "Cell phones." He glanced over his shoulder at Sam. "Cheyanne had hers. I bet wherever Julie is, she's got hers, too."

"She would've taken it when she left."

"She left Cheyanne here, yeah, she would've taken it."

Letting out a breath, Dean nodded back towards the door. Come on, let's get outta here.

Sam simply nodded and followed his big brother back out to the car, closing the room door behind him and ensuring that it was locked.

"605-229-8565."

"Yeah?"

"Far as I know, she's had that number for about six months."

Dean held his cell phone in the crook of his shoulder as he wrote down the phone number, the diner napkin he was using resting on his thigh. "Thanks Bobby."

There was a pause on the line, then, "What did you see?"

Sam slid into the passenger seat and Dean glanced at him quickly, clearing his throat. "Uh, clothes, research…sulphur."

"How much?"

"Enough."

A bag of peanut M&M's suddenly landed in his lap and he looked over at Sam again, who was smiling as he cracked open his bottled water.

"So what now?"

"What was the address of that warehouse you were tellin' us about?"

"Court and Mannston Streets. Right there at the intersection. Can't miss it."

He wrote down the address and then handed the napkin over to Sam who took it and studied it carefully.

The small gas station was bustling around them and the early morning sun was shining in through the open driver's window. The Impala sat off to the far side of the parking lot in an effort to avoid the seemingly constant flow of traffic that was coming in and out; Gettysburg residents on their way to work just before eight o'clock.

The early birds weren't Dean's crowd. They were more Sam's.

"We'll call you when we figure out what's goin' on."

He could picture Bobby nodding in his mind's eye. "You two watch yourselves out there."

Dean took hold of his cell phone and snapped it closed, picking up the bag of candy with a raised eyebrow. "Breakfast?"

"What, you don't want them?"

"Hey, now, I never said that."

The corner of Sam's mouth lifted, his eyes still on the napkin. "Breakfast of champions, Dean."

"Yeah, and it's only taken me twenty years to get you to say that."

Sam folded the napkin in half and exhaled, squinting in the sunlight. "So what? Devil's Trap arts and crafts?"

Dean popped a candy into his mouth before reaching down and starting the car, the Impala's rumble joining the rest of the noise that filled the parking lot.

The misty cloud of black spray paint came directly at his head and he waved a hand at it, making a face. "Still the best artist I've ever seen, Sammy."

Sam smiled, setting the spray can down onto the cement floor. "Practice makes perfect."

The Devil's Trap was nearly eight feet across and glistened only slightly in the dim lighting. Sam sighed, swiping his wrist across his forehead. "Do we know if Julie's still in town? I mean, if the demon's taken her over whose to say she hasn't moved on already?"

Dean pulled his cell phone from the pocket of his jeans. "Guess we're gonna find out."

605-229-8565

Holding the phone to his ear, Dean couldn't help but feel anxious. So anxious, in fact, that he started counting the rings.

From his crouched position down on the floor, Sam was watching him intently—eyes pinched, jaw set, concern oozing from practically every inch of him.

Dean locked eyes with him when someone picked up the other end of the line.

"Dean?"

It was a familiar voice—older, a little deeper…but the same voice he remembered from thirteen years before.

He felt goosebumps erupt on his arms.

"Julie?"

The voice let out a light laugh. "Not quite."

Still looking at his brother, Dean nodded his head; Sam's shoulders slumped while his eyes seemed to flash.

"I was wondering when you and your sidekick would get here, Dean. Girl from your past. It's not really like you to be all…sentimental."

"And how would you know what I'm like?"

Sam frowned.

"Come on now, we all know you." The demon sighed. "Kinda hard not to. You two are always sticking your noses where they don't belong."

Dean pushed himself from his lean against the far wall and tightened his grip on his cell phone, tight enough to hear the plastic creak.

"But then, you never stuck your nose anywhere when it came to Julie Connor…did you? Too young? Wrong place? Wrong time?"

"That's none of your damn business."

"But I see it all, Dean—every memory she has of you. And I gotta admit, based on your reputation? I was expecting something a little racier."

"Where the hell are you?"

The snarl broke out of him before he could even think of holding it in and the demon laughed again, Julie's light and cheerful voice snaking it's way underneath his rage. "Oh I'm around. I know that you and Sammy were all worried I'd left Gettysburg, but I'm still here. I couldn't pass up the chance to meet you boys."

"That so?"

"Oh yeah. I mean, I know that you're gonna be moving into the hellfire frat house in a couple months but I'm just far too impatient."

"You couldn't just wait to see me in hell?" Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw his brother tear his eyes away and focus on the cement floor, his eyes dull and his shoulders slumping even more than they had been. He swallowed hard. "You go after Julie?"

"Well, in all fairness, it was actually Julie that came after me. She'd been looking for me for quite some time."

"And why's that?"

"Surely you know? How obsessive someone can get when they're tracking the thing that killed their family?"

Dean stopped in his tracks and felt his eyes narrow. Sam looked up at Dean's change in demeanour and they once again locked eyes. "Jake and Abigail?"

Sam's eyes widened.

"I know I don't have to tell you how it feels to finally get revenge," Her voice changed—it lowered an octave, and it was so unlike the happy-go-lucky girl that Dean remembered, it made him feel ill. "To watch the light go out in the eyes of someone that's screwed you over. It's liberating. Isn't that how you felt when you finally went face-to-face with Azazel in that cemetery?"

"Yeah," he snarled again, "right before I blew his brains out."

"Yeah, I heard all about that. Must've been one hell of a weight off your shoulders, huh? Talk about fillin' daddy's shoes."

"Listen to me, you black-eyed skank." Dean turned away from his brother and lowered his voice. "I want Julie Connor back. You wanna meet me, come and meet me. I'm not hard to find."

"And get stuck in that massive trap that little Sammy just painted on the cement floor? I don't think so."

Dean's eyes immediately shot to the far door; it appeared closed and untouched. He then looked upwards towards the ceiling, checking for holes or gaps in the aluminum sheeting, anything large enough for someone to look through.

There was nothing.

"Where are you?"

"You and Sammy should get some rest, Dean. You're not gonna do much good if you're both fallin' asleep."

The line went dead and Dean had to let out a few long breaths in order to calm his boiling blood. Sam had stood from his crouch and approached slowly, his face pinched again. "What's going on?"

"So you're saying that this demon is the one who caused the Connors' car accident?"

Dean leaned back against the headboard of his bed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "That's what it said."

Room number fifteen of the Sage Motel was where the Winchester brothers had set up their base camp—Dean not wasting any time in removing his jacket and boots before settling onto the surprisingly plushy bedspread.

Sam was sitting at the table, frowning.

"And now what? It's taken over Julie for fun?"

"Far as I'm concerned? It took over Julie for two reasons—one, 'cause it ganked her parents and, yeah, thought it'd be fun…and two, 'cause it knew we'd come running."

"What's it want us for?"

Dean snorted. "Come on, Sammy. Demons have been screwin' with us for years, why wouldn't it want us?"

"Yeah, I hear you. But you said that the last time we saw the Connors, you were fifteen? Jake and Abigail Connor died, what…six years ago? How did the demon make the connection with us?"

"Julie and Cheyanne show up on a hunt, demon recognizes them, does a little digging…doesn't take much."

"You think Julie knew that it was this demon that killed her parents?"

Dean thought back to a couple days just shy of his fourteenth birthday.

It was one of the only times in Dean's memory that the Winchesters and the Connors had descended down on Singer Salvage at the same time—Jake and Abigail in the upstairs bedroom, John Winchester on the couch in the living room…and the kids in the library; Cheyanne and Julie on the sofa, Dean and Sam on a make-shift bed by the fire place.

Early morning sessions reading lore and going over research books.

Target practice back behind the house—Julie matching every one of Dean's hits to the target, shot for shot.

Swallowing, Dean nodded. "Yeah," he said. "She knew."

"And Cheyanne knows nothing about it?"

"She was lookin' after her little sister. The less pain Cheyanne goes through, the better it is."

Sam sighed, "The more pain Julie goes through alone."

It was because Dean knew his little brother so well that he heard it, quietly, hiding in between the lines. Making himself sit a little straighter, he said, "Come on and say it, Sammy."

Sam blinked, "Say what?"

"You know what."

The two stared at each other for a second and it was Sam that looked away first, letting out a breath.

Dean had always been the one to win staring contests in the Winchester universe, since they'd been kids. It wasn't really surprising that that hadn't changed over the years…hell, he'd lost the height advantage two milliseconds after Sam hit puberty, he needed to keep something.

After a moment Sam shook his head. "You remember that time…I'd just turned seven? We were staying in that motel outside Jarvis?"

A careful nod. "Yeah, I remember."

"I got it in my head that I wanted to dig to China. Straight shot, figured I'd be back before dad even realized I was gone."

Dean couldn't help but smile.

"Yeah. Found you knee deep in a pile of muck in behind the building."

"Dad came back, saw how filthy I was and flipped out. Told me I wasn't allowed to leave the room until he finished the job."

"You asked me to go out and dig without you. You said that if you couldn't go, you wanted me to go and bring you back a present."

Sam seemed to swallow hard, his voice strained as he continued. "Do you remember what you told me when I asked you to do that?"

"You'd been grounded. I told you that I didn't wanna go to China if I couldn't take you with me."

"Well, I can't go to Hell with you. You still thinkin' you wanna go there?"

Whoa. Stop and rewind.

Dean's memory of his mud-covered China-bound little brother came to a screeching halt and he blinked, intertwining his fingers and moving to rest his hands on his stomach.

It always came down to that.

The visions.

The final order.

The death.

And the deal.

…a series of events that covered the most recent pages of the Winchester history book, margin to margin.

Dean couldn't force himself to feel badly about it. After twenty-eight years of doing things for other people; putting himself in harm's way, sweating, bleeding…he'd finally made a decision to do something for himself.

To someone unfamiliar with their world it would appear that he'd made the deal for Sammy; to give the kid a chance at a life, go back to school, get married to a beautiful woman and have a bunch of hopelessly adorable geeks just like him. And while that would seem like the most rational method to Dean's madness, that unfamiliar someone would be wrong.

Truth was? Dean had made that deal for himself.

After hunting full-time for almost twenty years, Dean knew the truth. In their world—monsters, hunters, salt and shadows—it was the ones left behind that suffered the most. In their world, there were a thousand and one things worse than death and loneliness was one of them.

He could handle almost anything.

He couldn't handle being alone.

"We really gonna talk about this now?"

Sam sighed, looking anywhere but at his older brother. A silence was now hanging over them, thick and toxic, and Dean immediately wished it wasn't there. Fighting with Sam under normal circumstances was hard enough, but fighting with him when he had such little time left…

Dean swallowed hard and shifted his legs somewhat restlessly. "Let's just get through this, man, ok?"

"But Dean—"

"Sam."

The two finally locked eyes again; one set impossibly sad, the other impossibly determined.

Something inside the younger man's hazels seemed to dim and he finally nodded, figuratively bowing down to an older brother's authority.

Dean was brought back to consciousness by the incessant, spine-shaking sound of a phone ringing.

He hadn't meant to fall asleep; actually, he'd propped himself up against the headboard of his bed in a position that would seem somewhat inhuman to a normal person in hopes of staying awake. But after only a few minutes his fatigued body had apparently won out. He hadn't even been aware of it when his eyes had drifted closed, throwing him into a restless and uneasy sleep.

Wincing at the cramps in his neck he forced himself to sit up and search blindly for his cell phone.

The bed sheets beside him.

The surface of the nightstand.

His fingers swiped across something solid and there was a quiet thud against the carpeted floor, the obnoxious ringing now screaming up at him from two feet below.

Dean managed to hold in the groan as he reached down, flipping the phone open and hitting the talk button without even opening his eyes. "Hello."

His voice was about two octaves lower than it usually was and he tried desperately to clear the fog in his mind.

The voice that greeted him, however, bolted him right into alertness.

"Too late for the mighty hunters?"

Dean's eyes shot open and he rocketed into a sitting position, immediately looking over at his still snoozing little brother.

Then to the alarm clock.

2:12am.

"Just following your advice."

"Yeah, I'm sure. I'm surprised actually. I expected you two meat-heads to come charging after me when you first hit town; didn't think you'd stop and take a nap first."

Dean swallowed hard, forcing his anger back down into his stomach. "Yeah, well."

"But then you and Sammy aren't all there, are you? Both beaten, tired…fretting about the cheque you're gonna have to cash in a couple months?"

With the phone pressed securely against his ear Dean aimed his eyes once again at Sam's unconscious form and slowly stood from his bed, crossing the room quickly and letting himself outside.

It just reinforced the fact that Dean was the older brother. He'd spoken over the phone, stood up, crossed the room and gone outside…all without Sam stirring.

Sam couldn't even roll over without Dean startling awake.

And the bitch was still talking.

"So tell me, how are you coping with everything, Dean?" She paused for a moment; his fuse shortened. "You two say your goodbyes yet?"

"Y'know, I gotta be honest; as much as I love this whole "jerkin' me off over the phone", thing? I really don't." A breeze blew over him but he didn't notice. He was suddenly too angry. "How about I come find you?"

"26 Logan Avenue."

Dean blinked, eyes settling on the gleaming body of the Impala only a few feet away. "What?"

The demon gave a longsuffering sigh.

"26 Logan Avenue. I'm at that house right now."

"Right, and you're just gonna tell me where you are?"

"Why not? You don't stand a chance at finding me on your own, and like you, I have a schedule I have to keep."

"That so?"

"Yes. So…here's how it's gonna go. You come out to that address on your own and we'll have a talk."

Dean didn't even hesitate.

Sam stays behind? Asleep? Healing? Safe and sound?

Yeah, ok.

"When?"

"Like…as soon as possible. Quickly. Now."

"I'm on my way."

He didn't expect the demon to respond so he snapped his phone closed and let out a breath, watching it cloud in front of his face.

When he re-entered the room seconds later, Sam was still asleep and had his right arm thrown haphazardly across his face. There was some light snoring but no signs at all that the kid had been disturbed. Dean watched him for a second before slipping on his hiking boots and leather jacket, the Impala's keys already buried down in the right pocket.

The two brothers had only brought Dean's Beretta, the Colt, and Sam's favourite sawed-off in from the car's trunk, hoping to spend some of their time waiting getting the three well-used weapons clean. But very much out of his character, Dean had fallen asleep before the thought had even re-entered into his mind.

He stashed the old revolver in the waistband of his jeans hiding just under his jacket, double-checked that he had his cell phone and scrawled a two sentence note for Sam which he propped up against the alarm clock.

Got the call and I'm taking care of it.

Be back soon, don't even think of leaving.

2:20

With one last look at the Sammy-shaped lump on the far bed and after double-checking the salt lines, Dean headed out the door and locked it securely behind him.

The fire was slowly dying in the grate and Dean pulled the unzipped sleeping bag that he and Sam were using as a blanket up closer to his shoulders.

As nine year old Sam was lying right beside him, pressed against his back and Dean sighed, looking to make sure that the squirt had enough blanket to keep him warm.

Bobby Singer's library was chilly, the unseasonably cold air seeming to press in on them from all sides. The fire though which the older hunter had been tending to all night had helped up until all the adults had gone to bed.

Dean was just too lazy and far too comfortable to get up and look after it.

Besides, Sam wasn't shivering…and the girls up on the couch were snuggled together like human burritos.

Speaking of girls…

Shifting slightly so he could look up towards the sofa, Dean whispered, "Jewel?" The oldest Connor girl stirred slightly so he tried again, spurred on. "Jewel? You awake?"

A pair of slim fingers curled over the edge of the girls' sleeping bag and two sleepy blue eyes peered out and down at him. She blinked. "What?"

"I can't sleep."

Julie blinked again. "Cold?"

"Nah, just can't sleep."

Cheyanne, who had just turned three only a couple of days before, let out a small whine and cuddled closer to her big sister under the blankets; he watched Julie shift slightly to make room for her.

Under normal circumstances the little girl would've been staying with her parents upstairs in the spare bedroom. But when the Connors had tried to separate Cheyanne from her older sister, all hell had broken loose; crying, shrieking, tears…it had been a temper tantrum for the ages.

Needless to say, the consensus had been to let the little monster stay downstairs.

"Just close your eyes. Count sheep."

He looked up at her. "Sheep? No. Hey, how about fire trucks… or army tanks?"

She frowned and whispered, "What's wrong with sheep?"

"They stink."

He smiled to himself as she stifled a tired giggle.

The cool air blew across the skin at the back of his neck and he felt all the fine hairs stand up on end. He climbed the front steps of 26 Logan Avenue slowly and cautiously, the Colt held tightly in his hand and about three bottles of holy water stashed wherever they would fit; his jacket pockets, as well as stuck in the back waistband of his jeans where the gun had originally been.

Their book of exorcisms was also inside his jacket, just in case he was presented with an opportunity.

He had no spray paint; just a black magic marker that he'd found stuffed in the glove box of the Impala at the last minute. It wasn't the most ideal medium for drawing a devil's trap but he would make it work.

The very second the sole of his boot touched down on the wooden porch, the front door slowly creaked open on un-oiled hinges; Dean froze and raised his gun to eye-level, considering for a moment pulling out his small flashlight. He knew without a doubt that the demon waiting for him inside the house knew already that he was there, but why make things easier for the bitch if he could help it?

He moved inside slowly allowing his hunter's eyes the time to adjust to the darkness. His steps were silent and he was at the peak of his alertness; every creak of the old wooden floor, every groan of the pipes, every bang as the old shutters outside blew back and forth in the night wind.

Dean.

He froze again, coming to a stop just at the bottom of the staircase to the top floor.

The voice was feminine and familiar and a shiver went right up his spine under his leather jacket. The grip on his gun tightened instinctively and he swallowed.

This way, Dean.

He looked at the staircase.

Upstairs.

"Upstairs." He sighed and somewhat reluctantly followed the instructions, taking the stairs slowly. When he reached the upstairs landing he pulled his flashlight and switched it on, bathing the darkened hallway with the single beam of light.

"There you are."

The voice came from the end of the hallway and Dean snapped his head up, aiming the light towards the figure only feet away from him.

And there she stood. The fifteen year old he remembered.

Only she wasn't fifteen.

Her honey-coloured hair was long, about halfway down her back if he guessed. He couldn't make out her eyes in the darkness but he was relieved to see that her body looked relatively unharmed; no blood, no holes, no gaping cuts. Nothing that would require a doctor anyway.

He couldn't help but notice that she'd grown up well—unbelievably gorgeous, Julie was—at about 5'7" with curves in all the right places. Dark jeans, dark shirt and a dark leather jacket.

He could feel himself start to react being so close to her again but reminded himself loudly that he needed to stay focused. It wasn't Julie.

Not yet, anyway.

"Here I am." He took a step forward. "You wanna tell me what I'm doin' here?"

The corner of her mouth lifted up in a smirk. "You came to hunt a demon, didn't you?"

"That's the plan."

"Right, because you want Jewel back?"

Dean stiffened against his will at the nickname and adjusted his grip on his gun again.

"Oh, please don't tell me you're as possessive over that little nickname as you are Sammy." She laughed and motioned to his raised gun. "And you can put that away, I know you're not going to use it."

"What makes you so sure?"

The words were bravado, nothing more.

Taking a shot at Julie Connor would be almost as difficult as taking a shot at Sammy.

Not quite, but almost.

The demon's smirk grew. "Come on now, Dean. You won't hurt her. I can see inside your head, you know—" She pressed a finger to her own temple. "Right in here. Don't kid yourself."

Taking one last look at him, she melted into the darkness of one of the rooms and her disembodied chuckle echoed down the hallway to where he was standing.

It took a tremendous effort but Dean lowered his gun, not putting it away but holding it loosely in his hand. He wouldn't use it if he didn't have to—he had plenty of holy water—but he would use it if he had no other choice.

At least that's what he was telling himself.

The room the demon had gone into looked as if it was once an office of some kind. There was a truly enormous and decrepit old desk and the demon was leaning back against it, her arms crossed over her chest.

As he entered the room her eyes tracked his every move, and against his character, he felt somewhat self-conscious. Giving himself a mental shake, he said, "Ok, so I'm here." Reaching into his jacket, he pulled a bottle of holy water into view; she focused on it and something shifted in her eyes—in Julie's blue eyes. "You wanna tell me why I'm not beatin' you down and sendin' you back to hell right now?"

"Because I wanna talk." After a second, she looked back up to his face. "Just you. No Sammy."

"Don't call him that. And you wanna talk about what?"

"Where you're going in a couple months."

Dean felt his eyes narrow and he glared ferociously across the room. "I came for the girl. That's it—"

She spoke over him. "No, you came here for something else. Otherwise I'd be tied to a chair."

As much as it annoyed him, he couldn't argue with that.

The bitch would be tied to a chair and drenched from head to toe in holy water.

And Dean would be halfway through Sam's favourite exorcism.

He took a few steps to his right and pointedly set the old gun down onto an end table. He pulled his eyes from the intricate carvings along the handle and looked up at the demon, telling it with his eyes that he'd be able to grab it and fire it in less than three seconds if he had to. "You got five minutes."

The demon chuckled. "The mighty Dean Winchester is giving me five minutes? A demon? It's unheard of."

He barked, "Four minutes, fifty seconds."

"The deal you made."

"What about it?"

"You're trying to find a way out."

It was a statement…not a question.

He shifted slightly and watched her through suspicious eyes.

"Don't worry, I won't go running off to tattle on you; me and the Crossroads demon aren't exactly chummy."

"Well, good, 'cause she's dead."

Her head tilted to the side and it was no un-like the Julie that Dean remembered it was disturbing.

"That your handy work?"

"No, it was Sam's. Three minutes."

There was a sudden buzzing against Dean's right hip and he immediately knew that back at the motel Sam had woken up, found the note and had promptly started flipping out. As distracting as the vibrating cell phone was, he tried to push it from his mind.

If the demon noticed, it didn't say so.

"You're afraid of what'll happen once you're gone and Sam's on his own. Vulnerable, brother-less…bent on revenge?" She pushed away from the desk. "You've already spoken to one demon, in Ohio right? Sam's the new big kahuna of Azazel's army. How long do you think he'll last against that on his own?"

Dean smiled a patronizing smile, "Y'know, if I didn't know any better? I'd say you actually cared."

"I wouldn't smile about it if I were you."

"And why's that?"

"If you knew what I know?" She shook her head, breathing a laugh. "How all this is gonna end?"

"And you know that how?"

"Even demons at the lowest pay grade hear things through the grapevine, Dean."

Tearing his eyes away from her for the shortest second he looked down at the Colt still resting on the end table. He could feel his fingers tightening around a phantom version of the gun and he looked upwards again, feeling anger flash in his own hazels.

He had never been one to ask for favours, preferring to do things on his own until he had absolutely no other choice. And standing there in the dark house, the idea of actually asking the demon possessing his childhood friend for information? It wasn't exactly ringin' his bell.

But it was Sam.

In only a few short months, Dean knew he'd be leaving his most prized possession—the Sasquatch—on his own in a world just itching to make him into what he was supposedly destined to be. Demons, monsters…they were all against them, every minute of every day.

At that point in time, information was all he had.

If Dean couldn't be around to protect Sam with his strength then he'd make damn sure that Sam had the knowledge to protect himself.

Finally, he said, "So…you know what Azazel's endgame is? The celebrity death match in Cold Oak, the visions, the TK…all of it?"

"Dean, if you had the IQ of a raisin you'd be able to see it yourself. You think there's darkness in your brother now?" The blue eyes flared. "Give him a couple months without you."

"What, I'm the deal breaker, huh?"

He asked the question specifically to see what the demon would say because he already knew the answer.

Dean had faith in his brother; believed him to be strong and honest, capable of defending himself a good ninety-five percent of the time (according to an overprotective big brother, anyway). But Sam was an affectionate soul and valued his emotional ties with people over everything, including, to Dean's chagrin, his own well-being.

It played out before him just as it had a hundred times since he'd made the deal in the first place.

Dean would be gone; dead, salted and burned.

Sam would be lonely, angry, in pain…and would turn to the wrong people for comfort, would trust the wrong people, because for someone so unbelievably OCD about everything else, Sammy could be incredibly gullible.

Especially when he thought he was doing the right thing.

Just looking into the possessed face, Dean knew that the demon thought the exact same thing. But why this demon cared enough to lure him there and say all this out loud? He had no idea.

Why would the demon that killed Jake and Abigail Connor give a crap about him going to Hell and Sam possibly going dark side?

He must've said the words out loud because the demon said, "I didn't kill Jake and Abigail."

The words registered quickly and Dean blinked, frowning, "But you said—"

"To get you here, that's all. I wanted to talk to you and I knew you'd come running if I dangled the Connors in front of you."

"There's no point in lyin', you're goin' to Hell either way."

"I'm not lying." She took a step forward and Dean reached for the Colt, holding it loosely at his side. The demon stopped. "The Connors were in an accident, Dean. That's all. No demons, no monsters…just human error. It does happen from time to time."

"In my world, not all that much."

"Yeah, well—" She shrugged. "So is the life of a Winchester, I guess."

Dean's cell phone had not stopped buzzing and his thoughts couldn't help but travel to Sam.

"Talk to your brother, Dean. Make sure he understands."

He swallowed thickly. "Understands what?"

"That the visions weren't given to him for no reason. Azazel always has a reason."

Julie's head was suddenly thrown back and a tide of black smoke spewed from her mouth; a scream mingled with the sound of rushing air as the demon expelled itself from her body.

Dean took a few steps back and raised a hand instinctively to shield his eyes.

The black cloud shot over and slid through the slightly open window, disappearing into the darkness outside; Julie fell to the floor with a thud, completely unconscious.

All was silent for a moment and Dean merely blinked, eyes going from the window to the girl on the floor.

Getting his wits back, he dropped the Colt and crossed the room, crouching down beside Julie and immediately pressing the tips of his fingers into her neck. It was routine to check the pulse of someone newly freed from possession, to see if the person had somehow managed to survive—some did, most didn't.

Thankfully at that moment Julie's pulse was strong and steady.

Flexing his fingers in sudden nervousness, he ran diagnostics—her shoulders, her arms, her chest, her stomach—looking for wounds or injuries that may have been hidden from him before.

"Jewel, if you can hear me, baby, I promise, I'm not tryin' anything."

He murmured the words quietly, his hands ghosting over her thighs all the way down to her lower legs.

There was no blood, nothing to suggest she'd been injured physically; it bothered him however that she hadn't opened her eyes yet.

He got to his feet and took a quick look around the room, grabbing the Colt and re-stashing it back in the waistband of his jeans. And then as carefully as he could he slipped one arm under Julie's knees and the other under the back of her neck, lifting her up off the floor.

In less than two minutes they were in the car, the engine roaring to life and the tires spraying gravel as Dean hit the gas.

"You just…let the demon go?"

Being scolded in whispers by his little brother was the very last thing in the world Dean's nerves needed. He scowled, pulling the covers of his bed up to rest just under Julie's chin. "I didn't let it go, Sam. It smoked out."

"But that's it? I mean, it calls and goads the hell out of us…you go off alone—" A pointed glare. "—and then what? Chats for a few minutes then bails?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"What did it say?"

You think there's darkness in your brother now? Give him a couple months without you.

For the shortest moment, he considered having the talk right then and there…brother to brother…about what was speeding through Dean's head. The worry, the concern, the fear that he felt at the idea of Sam being alone.

He wouldn't go back on the deal he made for anything but he'd be lying if he said the consequences of making it didn't scare the hell out of him.

But with an unconscious Julie laying there, a panicked Cheyanne back at Bobby's, and a pissed and confused Sam standing before him, it wasn't the time for that talk.

It was a talk that required nothing but the two of them.

He tried to casually shrug his shoulders, "Said it didn't kill the Connors, so that's at least something."

"Really?"

"Used it as a lure. The Connors weren't killed by anything supernatural."

The upset melted from Sam's face and he sighed, plonking down onto the edge of his own bed. "So what?" He motioned to the sleeping Julie. "Just used Julie, too?"

I wanted to talk to you and I knew you'd come running if I dangled the Connors in front of you.

Dean cleared his throat.

"Just causin' trouble, Sammy. That's what demons do, right? Screw with peoples' heads?"

"I guess," he sighed again, "Just seems like a lot of work for nothing, that's all."

"For nothing?"

"Well, possessing a hunter…riding her for twenty-four hours…calling and prodding at us. You go out there and talk to it about god knows what and then that's it? What was the point of it all?" Sam shrugged. "I dunno."

Dean's trip downstairs, Sam on his own, and the consequences.

Dean hated demons. Hated them with more venom and fervour than anything else they hunted. Taking control of a person, pulling them away from their families, committing murder and abusing the body so much that if and when a demon finally smoked out, it was rare for the host to survive it. He'd lost count of how many possessed people he'd seen with holes in them, signs that what the demon was possessing was nothing more than an empty shell; the person inside already dead and gone.

Demons were cold, calculating and manipulative.

They destroyed and murdered and took advantage of those desperate because they liked it.

Because they found fun in it.

Dean swallowed and slowly nodded when Sam looked up at him. "Yeah, Sammy…I hear you."

It was just before seven in the morning when Sam took the car keys and headed out, his assignment to find somewhere decent to pick up breakfast. Neither brother had really slept much the night before and Dean was hoping that with a good sized meal in his stomach he'd be up for the two hour drive back to Bobby's.

Once the remaining Connors were reunited, Bobby was brought up to speed and he'd spoken with Sam, Dean had decided that they were officially off-duty—they needed to sleep and god they needed to heal. The routine they'd fallen into to tackle one job after another for weeks on end was coming to a grinding halt, by order of a tired and soon-to-be-cranky older brother.

He stood in the bathroom in a pair of jeans, freshly showered and examining the healing cut hiding just up in his hairline. Now that he had his shirt off and he was looking at himself in the light he could see that his previously dislocated shoulder, while still bruised, was looking somewhat better. The bruises were still a nasty looking purple, as were the bruises along his abdomen, but the pain had receded slightly.

That was at least something.

He'd taken a look at Sam earlier that morning and while the younger man had hissed slightly as he'd had his bruised ribs looked at, he claimed that he was alright. "Bit of a throb," he'd said, "Nothing I can't handle."

Dean's eyes settled on a small bruise near his tattoo and he sighed, reaching down for the clean t-shirt he'd placed on the counter by the sink. Wrestling himself into it stretched muscles in his back and it served as a reminder that there was a fine line between pleasure and pain; it hurt like hell but it was one hell of a stretch.

He left the bathroom quietly, his eyes darting over to the bed by the door.

The bed he hadn't slept in the night before.

And nearly crawled out of his skin when he saw a pair of blue eyes staring out at him from under the covers.

For a second all they did was stare at each other. Julie obviously knew who he was because she wasn't screaming or throwing things at him; she sat up slowly, raking her fingers through her long hair and letting out a breath.

Dean swallowed and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Are you alright?"

"Where's my sister?"

Newly free from demonic possession and the first words out of her mouth were about her sister.

Dean knew and understood. He was the exact same way.

"She's in Aberdeen with Bobby. She's ok."

Julie rested her head back against the headboard and closed her eyes. He could read the silent expression on her face; relief, a mental thank god.

"Worryin' about you, but she's ok." He crossed the floor and settled himself down on the edge of Sam's bed, resting his arms on his legs and intertwining his fingers. "How are you feeling?"

"Little sore."

"You probably will be for a couple days. Just gotta take it easy."

She opened her eyes and rolled her head to look at him, their gazes connecting once again. He could feel her studying him, looking at him, as if searching for the teenager she remembered hiding somewhere in the man he'd grown into.

He could see teenager he remembered—happy, cheerful…exhausted.

"It's really good to see you, Dean."

His fifteen year old self would've hugged her and maybe tried to steal a kiss, not wanting to be away from her for too long especially after what she'd been through.

But Dean Winchester was far from fifteen.

He was a man that notoriously loved women; meeting them, flirting with them, charming them, and seducing them. Hell, the people he loved most, Sam and Bobby, often teased him about it, making jokes and cackling like fools at the top of their lungs. He was ok with it, he knew it was the truth.

But right there at that moment, he cared more about the person he was sitting with then the fact that he was alone with a beautiful woman and doing nothing.

The corner of his mouth quirked up slightly and he nodded, saying quietly, "Yeah, you too."

"Sam?"

"He's here. Went to grab breakfast."

Julie let out a breath and slowly blinked. "You were the last person I expected to show up."

"Well, me and Sam were crashin' at Bobby's when Cheyanne got there and told us what happened." He shrugged his shoulders. "Honestly I'm surprised that you're surprised."

A small chuckle escaped her and she smiled at him. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

A small silence fell over them and Dean directed his gaze down to the carpeted floor, somehow feeling awkward and comfortable at the same time. The curtains were still drawn, Sam having suggested that they keep them closed for when Julie woke up just in case her eyes were over-sensitive.

Even in the darkness Dean could see how glassy they were and silently sent a thank you to his brother wherever the kid was.

"I uh," he cleared his throat. "I checked you over when I first brought you here, y'know, just in case. Didn't find anything. Anything we gotta take care of?"

After a second she shook her head. "No. Mostly just a raging headache."

"I figured. Got Advils if you need 'em." Dean softened his voice and leaned forward. "What happened out there, huh? Hunting a demon without protection, without your charm? What were you thinkin'?"

"It did more good with Cheyanne than with me; at least she made it to Bobby's."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure she would've preferred you comin' back. Kid was scared out of her mind when she showed up at the yard drivin' your car; which, by the way, is the hottest thing I've ever seen. GT 500?"

Julie smiled again. Leave it to Dean to deviate from an important lecture to talk about a car. "Told you one day I'd have one."

"You rebuild her?"

"From the tires up." He couldn't help but smile back at her as she continued. "Found her in a scrap heap a couple years ago down in Tyndall. Called Bobby, he towed her back to the yard. Let me keep her there and I worked on her whenever me and Cheyanne were around." Her smile grew slightly. "Black. Just like the Impala."

"How's she run?"

"Absolutely perfect."

Dean grinned. "Where'd you learn engines? You weren't really into them when I last saw you."

"My dad taught me," she paused and he saw her swallow, "right before he died."

He tore his eyes away from her and looked back down to the carpet, wiping a hand down his face wearily, "Jesus, Julie," he dropped his hand, "Bobby told me. I'm sorry."

Moisture had started pooling in the corners of Julie's eyes and Dean's shoulders fell, wanting nothing more than to reach across the small space between them and grab her hand.

He wasn't much for chick-flick moments or emotional conversations, never really had been. It was true that every once in a while he made exceptions—almost exclusively for Sammy—but something about making an exception at that moment felt right to him.

Yet another thing that was out of character.

Like him, Julie had lost both her parents. And like him, she'd lost both her parents suddenly. It was a kind of pain that you couldn't possibly understand until you'd felt it hit right in the center of your chest.

Ah, the hell with it.

Slowly so not to twinge his now aching midsection he stood from Sam's bed and stepped towards her, settling himself down on the very edge of her mattress. Not too close, just in case he wasn't welcome…and not too far away, his presence hopefully offering her some sort of comfort.

She sniffled and nearly made him slide off the bed and onto the floor when she reached over and grasped his hand in hers, unconsciously starting to play with the silver ring on his finger.

"It's been six years," she started in a watery whisper, "and it still hurts."

"You still got Cheyanne. You raised her right, you know."

"You think so?"

He sent her a tiny smile. "Oh yeah. She's a good kid. Smart."

She snorted, "Yeah. Too smart sometimes."

"Hey, I got one of those too, you know."

"I got an eighteen year old girl with a thirty year old mouth, how about you?"

"A twenty-four year old anal retentive with the mind of a ninety year old."

Julie stared at him for a second before starting to laugh, her head resting against the headboard again. "That doesn't sound like the cute six year old I remember."

Well," Dean smiled, "he's got his moments."

"Yeah. Raised by you, I don't doubt it."

The smile on his face was completely genuine and he let out a slow breath, relishing the feeling of lightness that had suddenly descended over him. As the days went by it seemed that those moments between him and Sam, which he secretly cherished more than anything else, were so rare and unexpected that they were over before he completely realized they were happening.

He felt comfortable, relaxed. The only thing missing was the Sasquatch.

It was so close to being an apple-pie moment that under normal circumstances it would've been obnoxious.

"So you made a deal, huh?"

And as easily as that, it was gone.

His head snapped up and his eyes widened, feeling whatever calm he'd had drain out of him as if a plug had been pulled.

It was common for the people who survived possessions to remember things—images, flashes, bits and pieces of conversations. When Sam had been possessed the year before he remembered practically everything…and even a year later it was still haunting him.

It hadn't occurred to Dean back at the house that he'd have to deal with Julie knowing about his deal and the consequences of it. It hadn't occurred to him that one more person would be worrying about it; and he knew that she would worry, even though they hadn't seen in each other in over a decade. It hadn't occurred to him that he'd have to deal with it.

He sighed wearily, "Jewel—"

"Sam died and you made a deal?"

"You gonna tell me you wouldn't have done the same thing?"

She didn't even hesitate. "No, I'm not gonna tell you that. I know I would. What big brother or sister wouldn't? But one year, Dean."

"We're dealin' with it."

"How?"

"Best we can."

She pushed herself from the headboard and slowly turned in the bed, sitting cross-legged so that she faced him where he sat only a few feet away. "Have you tried anything to reverse it?"

He almost laughed.

"There's no reversing it, Julie. Sam's alive, one year, I'm going."

"What do you mean, there's no reversing it? Sam killed the Crossroads demon, ok, but there's gotta be something—"

That time, he did laugh. "Y'know, for someone who's been possessed the last twenty-four hours, you seem pretty focused on me."

"Dean, please be serious."

"I am bein' serious. This is our problem, mine and Sam's. You just take it easy. We're headin' back to Bobby's as soon as you get somethin' to eat." He stood from the bed. "You should call Cheyanne, too; Bobby said she's practically tearin' his house apart."

Julie sighed, "How can you be so calm about this?"

He turned away from her and started towards the small coffee maker on the far counter, wishing he had a shot of whiskey to put in it. "Calm about what?"

"Global warming and the destruction of the o-zone layer."

Smirking, he glanced at her over his shoulder. "You grew into a real smart-ass, you know that?"

"Yeah, maybe, but you haven't changed a bit. Still laughing in the face of danger—"

"Julie," he turned around, leaning back against the edge of the counter. "I get this static from Sam all day, every day. I don't need it from you too, ok?"

"Just tell me why you won't even talk about trying to get out of it."

"I don't want out of it."

"Dammit, Dean, why not?"

"Because if I try to find a way out, Sam dies."

He felt great satisfaction at the stunned look on Julie's face and he felt his eyes narrow. She merely sat there staring at him, her blue eyes wide and somewhat terrified. "What?"

"You heard me. I try to renege, alter the deal in any way? Sam drops dead. Those are the terms, there's no way out of it."

"And you agreed to that?"

He could remember vividly the moment Sam died in his arms—the weight against him, the kid's still chest pressed against his, the cold mud seeping through the knees of his jeans. His own screams echoed in his head and there was still an ache in his fingers from gripping Sam's jacket so tightly.

It was all there…in his head.

Hey look, it's not even that bad! It's not even that bad, alright.

Sammy.

Sam!

Hey, listen to me. We're gonna patch you up, ok? You'll be good as new. Huh?

I'm gonna take care of you, I'm gonna take are of you. I got you.

That's my job right? Look after my pain in the ass little brother?

And that had been it. Sam's heart had stopped beating and Dean's heart had broken so severely that he hadn't had any options.

Swallowing hard at the noise within his head, he said roughly, "Yeah, I did."

Julie opened her mouth to say something but the motel room door swung open with such force that it banged off the wall.

There stood Sam, struggling under the weight of several balancing Styrofoam containers and a tray of coffee. "Dean," he looked over the top of the stack pleadingly. "Help."

Wiping the emotions off his face Dean jumped forward and took some of the top containers off the small pile in his brother's hands. "Jeez, Sammy."

"Feel like a frickin' circus performer."

"Quite the balance act you had goin' there, dude, I think you missed your calling."

Sam snorted, not even noticing the wide-eyed Julie staring at him from her seat on the bed. "I had to go to three different places to get you your strawberry pancake syrup." He frowned. "I didn't even think you liked strawberry?"

"It's not for me." Dean pursed his lips and motioned over Sam's shoulder. "I know it's Julie's favourite, or…it was when we were kids, anyway."

Dean watched as Sam turned around and him and Julie locked eyes for the first time in thirteen years. A smile spread across her face as she took in the six-foot-four Sammy. "Hey Sam."

He raised a hand in a shy wave. "Hi Julie. How are you feeling?"

"Pretty good."

Dean held out the Advil bottle and rattled it to get Sam's attention. "She's got a headache; toss those over to her, will you?"

Sam nodded and took the pill bottle, crossing the room and setting it into her waiting hand gently. She smiled up at him. "You got really tall."

Dean nodded from across the room. "Yeah, I know. Unfair isn't it?"

"I don't think it's unfair."

"Sam, the rules clearly state that the big brother is supposed to be biggest." Dean held a coffee cup out to him. "I put ten creams and about twenty sugars in there, good enough?"

"The hell with it, throw thirty in there. It's the weekend."

The two grinned at each other and Sam leaned over the table, opening the to-go containers carefully. Dean felt eyes on them and looked up to find Julie watching them closely—and even though there was a gentle smile on her face, her blue eyes were impossibly sad.

"She's exhausted."

At Sam's words Dean glanced up into the rear-view, his eyes falling on the sleeping face of Julie lying in the back seat. She was lying on her right side, her head resting on one of the pillows from their motel room back in Gettysburg which Sam had insisted upon stealing for the drive to Bobby's.

"I don't remember being that tired," Sam said quietly, "just achy. Sore."

"Yeah, she was sayin' earlier she was sore."

He looked at her in the rear-view again.

"So I'm guessing you two talked earlier?"

"Hmm?"

"You and Julie. You two talked?"

Dean let out a breath and shifted slightly in his seat, his attention going back to the road. "Yeah. I guess."

Sam frowned, "You guess?"

"She said she thought her charm would do better with Cheyanne. And it was just supposed to be an exorcism; I don't think she was plannin' on it goin' so sideways."

"It's when you don't plan on it that it happens."

"Gettin' wise in your old age, Sammy."

Sam smiled and took a deep breath. "Have my moments."

The older man smirked lightly and glanced over, recycling someone else's words.

"I raised you, man; I don't doubt it."

The gunshot followed by a frustrated scream echoed through the trees and Dean frowned. Sam frowned as well, looking up at his big brother from his seat in the rickety old rocking chair. "Who's screaming?"

He let out a breath and motioned to the book Sam had resting in his lap. "Cool out here, Sammy. I'll be right back."

Dean ruffled the ten- year-old's hair affectionately before taking off down the porch stairs and around the back of the house.

He knew exactly who it was and what she was doing.

She'd been out there for nearly two days.

It was the first week of May and the sun was shining brightly. It wasn't humid or overly warm, just comfortable, and as he started into the woods behind the Singer Salvage yard, the sound of birds in the trees was somewhat calming.

That is until Julie fired another shot and screamed again, sending every bird within a two mile radius up into the sky with loud squawks of infuriation.

The well-used dirt path led directly to the make-shift firing range that Bobby had constructed a couple of years before and just as he expected his eyes found Julie, taking aim down the range. The old fence had four or five pop cans propped up as targets and Dean frowned again; only five cans could be propped up.

Which meant that Julie hadn't made a single shot.

"Julie?" He approached slowly, stepping over the tree roots. "What's goin' on?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Really?" Coming to a stop right beside her, he said, "You're out here screaming."

She sighed. "I'm just frustrated."

"With what?"

"This—" she waved the handgun around flamboyantly. "—new gun! I can't hit one can."

"What? Why?"

"I don't know!"

"Ok, alright, just—" Raising his hands in a 'calm down crazy person' kind of gesture he walked up to her and placed his hands on her shoulders, herding her into position. "Relax, ok?" When she nodded, he said, "Show me."

"Dean—"

"Just do it."

Letting out a sigh, she raised the gun and took aim.

He watched carefully—her technique, how tight her grip was, the way she pulled the trigger as well as her breathing as she prepared to fire. All were important and, at that moment, all were horrendous.

She was slouching.

Her grip was loose.

She was breathing in quick, short gasps.

She squeezed the trigger instead of pulling it.

After a few seconds Julie fired, the kickback of the gun sending her arm flying and the bullet blasting into a nearby tree trunk, bark and wood chunks exploding all over the place.

Dean blinked.

"Ok, well that was…ok."

She looked at him over her shoulder and when she raised her eyebrows, he corrected, "Well, no, it was lousy, but we can work on it."

Dean looked down the range for a second and then nodded his head, as if coming to a decision. "Ok, come here," he stepped closer to her and steered her back into position, his hands innocently resting on her hips as he guided her. "Keep your legs solid, it'll help with the kickback."

She nodded, "Ok."

Taking his right hand off her hip, he moved it up to the gun which she still held, demonstrating things as he spoke. "Don't let your hand slip too low on the grip; that kinda pressure on the trigger and you'll shoot low." He pressed the gun tighter into her hand and closed his fingers around hers. "Tight grip and pull the trigger straight back."

Julie raised the gun into position and Dean settled right behind her again, speaking directly into her ear. "Remember, inhale for short distances and exhale for long. Keep your breathing steady or you'll throw off your aim." He felt her take a deep and calming breath. "That's it, just relax."

His hands went back to her hips as she carefully took aim. He studied her hands and how she was holding the gun, whether or not she was trembling or shaking. There was a slight tremble in her arms but he wrote it off as adrenalin.

"Take the shot when you're ready," Dean added quietly. "Don't rush it."

For just a second there was complete silence; there was no wind, no rustling leaves, no birds. There was just them.

Julie took the shot.

And the center can at the end of the range exploded, falling back off the top of the fence and into the long grass.

He chuckled. "See?"

With a smile on her face she lowered the gun and spun around.

A fourteen year old girl's arms descended around a fourteen year old boy's shoulders and she hugged him, the smile on her face bright. "Thanks Dean."

He pulled her close and gave her a squeeze.

The Impala blasted through the front gate of Singer Salvage just before 10:30am and Dean wasn't at all surprised to see Cheyanne sitting on the front steps waiting for them. He hadn't even brought the car to a complete stop and the eighteen year old was yanking the back door open, pulling Julie into a tight hug as soon as the older girl was on her feet.

Sam got out of the car slowly having been complaining about throbbing in his ribs; Dean simply sat there resting his head back against the seat, closing his eyes and letting out a long and tired breath.

He wanted to sleep for a week.

No dreams, no stress, no thinking.

Just sleep.

"Dean?"

Opening his eyes, he rolled his head on the headrest and saw Sam poking his head back in the open passenger window. The question was there in Sammy's concern-filled eyes. "I'm alright, Sammy," he said tiredly, "Just wiped."

The kid nodded. "Yeah, I hear you."

After a second Dean took a deep breath and pushed his door open, wincing at a sudden pain flaring in his shoulder as he stood from his seat. "Sleep and/or beer…right now." He closed the car door. "I don't care about the order."

Sam's eyes were glued to the two sisters still embracing at the back of the car and Dean couldn't help but look at them as well. Cheyanne had hooked her chin over Julie's shoulder and there were tears in her eyes, worry and panic coming out all at once. Julie for her part was holding on tight, whispering reassuring words in her little sister's ear.

To anyone else watching, the moment wouldn't have meant very much. But to Sam and Dean Winchester…two brothers that understood the true meaning of being reunited…it meant the world.

He felt like he was intruding and he got Sam's attention, nodding his head towards the front porch where Bobby was waiting for them. Sam nodded and the two started across the gravelled driveway.

As they got closer, Bobby shook his head. "You two are somethin' else."

"Why, what'd we do?"

"Look at ya!"

The two brothers exchanged a confused look and turned their heads back towards the older hunter in unison; Sam quirked an eyebrow. "Look…at us…what?"

"You're both hurtin' so damn much you can barely walk straight." He motioned them inside. "Get your sorry asses in here, ya idgits."

Dean pointed at him. "Now that's one order I got no problem followin'. Sammy?"

"No, hey," Sam smiled tiredly, "I'm with you."

As he usually did in such situations, Dean stood to the side and let Sam go inside ahead of him. He listened to him and Bobby natter to each other as the screen door banged shut but he stayed out on the porch, watching the two Connor girls for just a moment longer.

They'd finally ended their hug and were standing close, still talking to each other quietly.

Julie, who was as much a hunter as he was, felt him watching and looked upwards, sending him a smile when their eyes met.

He returned the gesture before turning away, pulling opening the screen door and letting himself into the cool front hallway of Bobby's house.

It was a relief after the heat of the early morning drive and he couldn't help the slight wince as he shrugged out of his leather jacket. He could feel a trail of sweat working its way down the middle of his back under his shirt and when he walked into the kitchen moments later, he made a face of pure eiphoria when Bobby handed him an ice cold beer. "Oh," he took the bottle into his hand and looked at it as if it was leggy blonde in a mini-skirt. "Talk to me, baby."

Bobby smiled, "It's five somewhere."

"Right here, right now."

Sam on the other hand was sitting at the table nursing a cup of coffee. "You should really only have one, Dean."

"What? Why?"

"You hardly slept last night and you took those painkillers at the motel, remember?"

The older brother made a face, settling in at the table, "God, I hate it when you start gettin' all sensible."

The three men heard the screen door squeak open and bang closed but didn't acknowledge it until Julie and Cheyanne came into the kitchen.

The moment Bobby laid eyes on Julie, she was in his arms. "Good to see you, sweetheart."

"You too, Bobby."

"You alright?"

They broke the embrace mutually and she nodded, sending him a smile. "Just tired."

Dean jumped when a tiny hand came to rest on his shoulder but relaxed when he realized who it was. Cheyanne was smiling down at him and it was so heart-breakingly beautiful, he just had to smile back.

It was a silent thank you. An acknowledgement of the fact that they'd gone up there blind specifically to bring her sister back, and they'd done it…just as he'd said they would.

He simply nodded at her. You're welcome.

Bobby was grinning as he looked around at all of the young people invading his kitchen.

"Well…any of you hungry?"

Dean emerged from the bathroom slowly, completely regretting the hours in the car now that the pain in his side had started flaring up again. The painkillers that he'd taken before leaving Gettysburg had been awesome but now that they'd started wearing off, he was suffering.

He remembered hearing somewhere that some injuries actually hurt more once they start healing. More pain was actually a good thing.

Yeah, whatever. Dude who thought that up couldn't find his ass with two hands and a map.

His hand ended up on the doorframe to support himself and his eyes fell on his and Sam's bedroom door just a few steps down the hallway.

This friggin' sucks.

"Dean?"

He looked up.

Julie was coming down the hallway from Bobby's room, which she and Cheyanne were sharing after the older hunter had insisted upon it. "You boys are hurt and the girls need sleep," he'd said, "I'll take the couch."

Dressed in black shorts and a white t-shirt, he could tell she'd been asleep. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, her bare feet padding across the floor nearly silently. "Hey," he said quietly, "Didn't wake you, did I?"

"Oh no, just—" she motioned to the bathroom doorway. "needed the bathroom."

He stood there and blinked owlishly for a second before snapping out of it, "Oh, well," he moved out of the way. "She's all yours."

Julie smiled at him gently before her brow furrowed. "You ok?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Little sore."

"Sore?"

"Yeah, it's uh," he looked sheepish, "It's been a rough couple weeks."

Her eyes drifted from his face up to the healing but angry looking cut in his hairline. Her brow furrowed even more and before he knew it, she was touching him, her tender fingers sweeping aside his hair and soothing the sore skin.

He couldn't help it. He closed his eyes and leaned right into her touch, letting out a slow breath.

She whispered, "Probably could've taken a couple stitches."

Dean heard the words…registered that she was talking to him and that she would expect a response. As much as he wanted to, however, he couldn't concentrate on anything but the feeling of her fingertips on his forehead.

He was used to a woman's touch. Used to feeling feminine fingertips, hearing feminine sighs, feeling that kind of energy between himself and another person. It wasn't anything new. But there'd always been something about Julie's touch that made it different.

Women surrendered to Dean Winchester.

But with Julie, it was him that surrendered.

It'd been that way when they were teenagers, and thirteen years and a whole lotta women hadn't changed anything.

He didn't remember that he was bare-chested until she was suddenly touching him there, too; her hand resting on his chest as she tenderly traced the outline of his tattoo with her fingertips.

Dean moaned low in his throat and brought his hand up to cover hers, forcing her palm to lie flat against the skin of his chest. "Jewel…" he whispered huskily, forcing his eyes open.

She was dangerously close to him, mere inches away. It wouldn't take much for him to make the next move…hell, under normal circumstances he probably would've made it already.

But those weren't normal circumstances.

And Julie wasn't just anyone.

He swallowed painfully hard, then whispered, "We can't."

"Why not?"

"It's just…not a good idea."

She moved a little closer.

He could smell her coconut shampoo.

"I touched you like this back then."

There was a familiar haze settling over his vision consisting of nothing but want and lust, but he gave himself a mental shake and forced it back down.

He needed to focus.

"Things are different now."

Things were incredibly different. They weren't teenagers anymore. They were adults; more experienced, more knowledgeable…more damaged.

After a second she nodded her head, her eyes going glassy. "Yeah, I know they are."

Dean let his eyes close and leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against hers. He sighed the words, "You know I want to."

They stayed like that for a second or two, breathing quietly, just enjoying the feeling of being together again.

Her right hand slid slowly up into his hair and she used the hold to draw his face down towards her own. Her mouth, hesitant, moved towards him, brushing so lightly against his own that it could've been mistaken for her breath if it hadn't caused a shock of electricity to sizzle through his body.

There it was.

The heat they'd felt before.

Dean went the rest of the way, taking her lips fully with his own; hungry and firm, ripe with demand. She gasped against him and that small sound brought his senses back with the force of a wrecking ball. He broke the kiss and breathed a laugh, pulling his head back and opening his eyes.

The look in her blue eyes was something else that he was used to.

Her eyes were giving him permission, asking him to keep going. But the voice of common sense in the back of his mind—which oddly enough sounded just like Sam—told him to stop. It was telling him to leave it in the past…where it could be a memory he cherished instead of a regret that would eat him alive.

He pulled her hand away from his chest and sent her a tight smile.

"Can't do it."

She looked back at him, completely silent.

And then, very carefully, she went up on her tip-toes and pressed her lips to his forehead.

I missed you.

I wish we could...

All of it wrapped up in two seconds of feeling her lips on his skin.

He felt her move away from him and when he opened his eyes again all he could do was watch her move around him and head into the washroom, quietly pushing the door closed behind her.

He'd said no because of who she was and what they'd had. But there was another reason, too.

In only a few months time as the demon had put it, he'd be moving into the hellfire frat house. Separated from Sam, separated from Bobby, separated from everything that made him who and what he was.

Being separated from those people, those things, was nearly killing him.

He'd never survive adding one more person to that list.

For just a second, it felt as if his chest would collapse in on itself.

And then there was Sammy.

"Dean?"

He looked up into the sleepy-eyed face of his little brother and nodded, pushing away from the doorframe and walking towards their bedroom door slowly. "What're you doin' up?"

It was obvious from the expression on Sam's face that he hadn't witnessed any of what had happened and Dean couldn't help but feel relieved.

And judging by how tired the kid looked, he probably wouldn't remember it even if he had.

"Just making sure you're ok." He was fighting a yawn. "B-Been gone a…l-long time."

Just at the sight of that yawn, Dean could feel a smile brewing in his cheeks. There it was the middle of the night, Dean in one of the worst moods he could imagine…and Sam was unknowingly coming to his rescue, as he often did.

And as Dean always did at least once a day, he thanked God that he had a little brother.

Reaching the door, he thumped Sam's shoulder affectionately.

"Come on, bitch. Bed."

Sam merely nodded and yawned again, allowing his big brother to steer him back into the darkness of their bedroom, pulling the door closed behind them.

Dean was aware of it when his head hit the pillow. He was aware of it when Sam fell back into sleep.

He wasn't aware of it at all when his own eyes finally drifted closed, sending him into the dreamless sleep he'd been dreaming of for months.

The house was quiet the next morning.

Bobby was in the kitchen having a one-sided fight with the toaster…Sam was back in the overstuffed chair by the library fireplace, a large book resting across his thighs…and Dean was stretched out on the couch, his right hand shielding his eyes from the relentless sunshine streaming in through the window.

It was as if the whole hunt in Gettysburg had never happened.

They were right back where they started.

Without even opening his eyes, Dean asked, "What are you readin', Sammy?"

"Just…doing some research."

Ah, of course. Research.

Why did he even bother asking anymore?

Sammy was always doing research—reading, writing, searching, calling—it never stopped. The older man had lost count of the number of times he'd woken up in the middle of the night to find Sam using his flashlight to read in the darkness of wherever they were. The kid was determined when it came to research on the best of days, but when it came to Dean's deal and trying to find a way out of it?

There was absolutely no comparison.

Sam wasn't determined.

He was desperate.

Dean wanted to tell his brother to put the book away and just relax; to close his eyes and take a few deep breaths. To let go of the angst and the stress. But he was smart enough to know that no matter how many times he told his brother to do those things, Sam would ignore him. Forcing the issue would cause tempers to flare and a fight to spring out of nothing and Dean was done fighting about nothing. He couldn't afford it anymore. He just didn't have the time.

The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs reached Dean's ears and he opened his eyes, looking towards the open doorway of the library. After a few seconds Julie appeared there, carrying a duffel bag. Dean cleared his throat which caused Sam to look up as well.

"You headin' out?"

She nodded, adjusting the strap of the duffel on her shoulder. "Yeah, I think so. Getting kinda restless."

Sam nodded empathetically. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Just waiting for Cheyanne?"

"Yeah, she's slower getting her act together than I am."

Sam smiled.

Psyching himself up, Dean took a breath and pushed himself into a sitting position on the sofa. He was on his feet only seconds later somehow managing to hold in a wince. Sam asked softly, "You ok, Dean?"

He made a face and gave a somewhat tight nod. He looked to Julie. "Can we talk?"

She looked surprised but said, "Yeah. Sure."

"Sammy, come on out with Cheyanne, huh?"

The kid muttered a quiet ok and Dean crossed the library, following Julie as she headed towards and out the front door.

The Mustang and the Impala were parked just a few meters away from the old porch steps and Dean shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, watching as Julie opened the back door of her car and tossed her bag in.

"It's too bad, you know."

Squinting in the sunlight, he said, "What's too bad?"

She nodded towards her car.

"You never got to drive her."

A smile forced its way onto Dean's face and he chuckled, "Well, I gotta be careful which girls I drive," he mimicked her movement and nodded towards the Impala. "Someone might get jealous."

"Nah. Your eyes may wander but you always go home with her. She knows how you feel."

Still smiling, he moved to lean back against the Mustang's passenger door and let out a breath, looking aimlessly around the yard.

There was an awkwardness there between them that hadn't been there before their encounter in the hallway the night before and Dean cursed himself for it. He had a feeling deep down in the pit of his stomach that he wouldn't cross paths with the Connors again and in a way he almost didn't want to.

Keep it in the past, he reminded himself. Let sleeping dogs lie.

He swallowed hard.

"You got your anti-possession charm back, yeah?"

Julie nodded, "Cheyanne practically threw it at me the second I was outta the car."

"Can't blame her."

"No, I guess not."

Another small silence bloomed between them and after a few strained seconds, Julie said his name. He looked over at her and watched as she pawed at the ground with the toe of her hiking boot. "You're really just…gonna let it happen?"

He didn't need to ask what she was talking about and he wouldn't play anything up by asking her anyway.

He looked out over the yard again and simply said, "Yeah."

"When is it?"

"Do you really wanna know?"

She didn't answer but Dean could feel the answer in the air.

No. She didn't want to know.

Who in their right mind would want to know? It was the kind of countdown that ate away at sanity and happiness, trying desperately to take over your life—you had to fight it tooth and nail. It had taken over Sam's life, and by proxy, had taken over Dean's.

But not because Dean was worried about himself, no…he was worried about his brother.

One of the reasons he'd kept them so damn busy over those past couple weeks was because when they were on a job and physically doing something, hunting and helping others, things felt almost normal. Well…their particular brand of normal anyway, if the everyday life of a Winchester could even be called normal in any way, shape or form.

One brother had visions and occasional bouts of telekinesis.

The other had made a deal with a demon and was going to Hell.

No, they weren't normal. As Dean had once put it while they were fleeing St. Louis, they were freaks; but that had never really bothered them. For most of their lives they'd always double-teamed their freak factor and that was enough.

But the deal? Dean wasn't touchin' that one. Sam always came first, even when it meant that Dean in the end wouldn't survive it.

And as a big sister, he knew that Julie felt the exact same way about Cheyanne.

"I honestly don't know what to say."

After a second Dean smiled and looked over at her. "Speechless? You?"

She didn't even smile. "Dean."

"Yeah, I know." He slid himself along the side of the car to stand a little closer to her, nudging her arm playfully. "But I'm ok with it."

"You're not scared at all?"

"You wanna know what scares me? Honestly?"

She nodded her head and he let out a breath, his eyes settling on the gleaming Impala only a few feet away.

It wasn't like him to be so candid with someone other than his brother. He was private when it came to his feelings, his emotions; he'd been that way since he was a kid. He was a pro when it came to offering someone a completely bogus smile and making them believe it was the real thing. Sam, after all, was the only one who could tell when he was being genuine.

But the words hanging out in the back of his throat were words he'd been dying to say out loud. He didn't want to say them to Sam, for obvious reasons…but they were there, screaming for him to just admit it.

Now or never.

"I don't wanna leave Sam on his own." Dean swallowed. "So much has happened. So much crap. I mean, I don't know what kinda future he's gonna have, what he's gonna get himself into."

"What's happened?"

"Trust me, you don't wanna know."

"No," she mimicked his movement and slid closer, a look of pure and genuine concern on her face. "No, I do. I really, really do."

"Julie."

Dean breathed a harsh laugh and broke eye contact, slowly shaking his head.

It's kind of a family thing.

He remembered saying the words to Ellen when she'd started asking questions. And while he may have felt that way at that moment with Julie's questioning eyes looking up at him, he didn't want to say it out loud. He settled for silence instead and she got the message.

She worried her bottom lip for a second and said quietly, "Sam knows how you feel, Dean. He knows—"

"I've never told him. Never said the words out loud—"

"You don't have to." Julie's hand settled on his arm gently but it wasn't lustful in any way; just comforting…oddly reassuring. "He's a smart guy, Dean. I think he can read you better than you think he can."

Dean laughed again, "I got no doubts about how well he can read me." He paused thoughtfully, "Sometimes I wish he couldn't."

She smiled, giving his arm a squeeze before dropping her hand to her side. "Yeah, I've been there a couple times, too."

"Can you do me a favour?" Julie nodded at him and he lowered his voice. "281-555-0108."

"Ok?"

"Can you remember that?"

"281-555-0108."

"That's Sam's cell number. Can you keep in touch with him? Give him a call in a couple months, make sure he's doin' ok?"

"Dean—"

"I've already talked to Bobby and he's gonna be lookin' after him. I've been savin' money for him in a Chicago bank account; Bobby's got all the information." He could feel a burning in his eyes and fought against it with everything he had. Swallowing hard, he said, "I don't want him bein' alone. I can't leave him knowing he's gonna be alone."

"What about your dad?"

A brand new pain blossomed in Dean's chest and he tried to smile….tried to push it away.

"He's uh…he's not around."

Julie frowned. "Not around? What—"

"Just do that for me, ok?"

All she did was nod, but he knew that he could count on her. When they'd been kids she'd watched out for Sam almost as much as he had himself; and he'd returned the favour, watching over Cheyanne whenever he could.

One older sibling to another.

Leaning forward he pressed his lips to her forehead and exhaled, feeling her slant towards him.

It was at that moment that the screen door of the house banged open. There were voices, then loaded silence, then gossipy muttering in a voice that Dean recognized all too well.

Sam, Cheyanne and Bobby were gathered on the porch, watching wide-eyed as Dean pulled his lips from Julie's skin. He glanced over his shoulder. "Come on down the damn stairs, you rubberneckers."

Silence lasted a second longer before three pairs of feet plonked down the old wooden steps and crunched on the gravel, rounding the Mustang and joining them.

Cheyanne was grinning.

Sam was looking obnoxiously smug.

Bobby, just unsurprised.

Julie cleared her throat, "You ready to go, Cheyanne?"

The teenager nodded and Bobby said, "You sure you really wanna go, Julie? I mean, it's only been half a day since you got here."

"I'm ok, Bobby." She smiled. "Ready to get moving again."

"You're sure. 'Cause you know you can stay."

Julie was practically snuggled right into Dean's side, her arm slung across his lower back, but at Bobby's words she moved forward and wrapped her arms around the old man's scruffy neck. "I know." Dean heard her say quietly. "Thanks for everything."

Bobby's house was so much like a hunters' orphanage that sometimes Dean couldn't believe it. He didn't know if others used the Singer Salvage Yard as a sanctuary as he and Sam often did…but standing right there were two pairs of orphaned hunter siblings that had no one else and were welcome at Bobby's any time of the day or night.

That fact made Dean love the old man even more.

Julie pulled away from him still smiling and turned her eyes upwards to Sam. The kid looked as shy as always but returned the smile, holding Julie close when she moved in to hug him.

He completely dwarfed her, to the point where she nearly disappeared in his embrace.

Dean simply smiled and watched.

"Take care, Sam."

He nodded, "Thanks, Julie. You too."

They broke apart gently and Julie moved back to stand beside Dean. Hugs were shared between Cheyanne, Sam and Bobby and when the eighteen year old turned towards him, Dean grinned at her.

"You gonna keep your sister in line?"

She quirked an eyebrow and her expression was so sardonic, he couldn't help but laugh. "Can Sam keep you in line?"

Sam chuckled, "I do what I can."

Cheyanne smiled and stepped into Dean's open arms, her head fitting just perfectly under his chin—just like her sister's did. "Take care, kid, ok?"

She nodded against his chest, her voice slightly muffled by his shirt. "Thanks Dean."

"I tell ya, I really wish you two would stay." Bobby frowned stubbornly at Julie as the embraces ended. "Bein' possessed by a demon is no joke, you know that."

"I promise that I'm fine."

Bobby shook his head and she turned towards Dean again, not saying a word before stepping forward and wrapping her arms around his neck. He let out a breath and pulled her close, wanting desperately to close his eyes as her hair tickled his nose.

She whispered, "281-555-0108."

He clutched her tighter.

"Thank you."

The others, obviously thinking they were intruding on something private, started chatting amongst themselves and as they rounded back around to the passenger side of the Mustang.

Dean barely noticed as Julie whispered again, "Promise me you'll be alright."

It was a promise he couldn't keep and therefore wouldn't make.

"Drive safe, Jewel."

The two stood there for a second and she finally pulled away, moisture pooling in the corners of her eyes. "Why'd we wait thirteen years?"

He let out a breath and pushed himself from the side of the car. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"You ready, Julie?"

Cheyanne was looking at her sister over the roof of the car and Julie nodded, squeezing Dean's arm before pulling open the driver's door and sliding in behind the wheel. As soon as she was settled, Dean pushed the door closed and took a step back grinning like a moron when the Mustang's engine came to life, making a rumble that in a way rivalled the Impala.

Bobby knocked on the rood of the car.

"You two be safe, for the love of god!"

The two girls sent waves and smiles, Julie's eyes lingering on Dean's a little longer than the others, and the Mustang started rolling kicking up a dust cloud. As the car pulled away the three men came together, their eyes following until the car disappeared onto the main road.

Bobby hung around for a minute longer and then headed back towards the house, muttering about "damn impatient kids" and how they were going to "give him ulcers".

Dean felt Sam move closer, nudging his shoulder gently. "You ok, man?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Just…makin' sure."

Dean looked over at his kid brother, sending him an incredibly small smile.

"Yeah, Sammy, I'm ok."

"You gonna come in?"

"Right behind you."

Sam's hand came down gently on Dean's shoulder and he turned away, following Bobby's lead up the porch steps and into the house.

Dean stayed outside, his eyes still staring on the exact spot where the tail end of the Mustang had disappeared.

What he'd said to Julie rang true. While he knew exactly what was going to happen in only a few months time, the only certainty was what was going to happen to him. Sam's future, Sam's fate, was a complete mystery simply because Dean wouldn't be around to see it for himself.

Hellhounds, demons, fire, torture. All of those things were waiting for him in the supposed presidential suite and while the thought of it would terrify someone in their right mind…that wasn't the most terrifying thing to Dean Winchester.

Sam on his own.

Sam in pain.

Sam angry.

Sam vengeful.

All Dean could do was hope. Hope that the people he'd asked to take over for him would be up for it…Bobby and now Julie; two people out of six billion that he trusted with his little brother's well-being.

All he could do was hope.

As the demon in Gettysburg had hinted, he didn't have time for anything else.

END