"Dean loves pie." Dean glared at Garth from across the table. Garth just shook his head as if to ask "What?" A few days had passed since Kevin had died and Dean had come to find Garth in a hospital after mutilating some cows. The truth of his disappearance had spilled out after his wife, a werewolf like himself, had tried to attack Dean. Now Dean found himself sitting at a table and sharing a very messy lunch with a family or pack of werewolves, one of which was Garth. As he watched the wolves devouring their raw meat he couldn't bring himself to touch his own food. Instead he glared suspiciously at each wolf in turn. Something dangling from a chain around each of their necks caught his eye.

"So, why are a bunch of werewolves wearing silver bullets around their necks?" And so they went into a long story of the significance of their necklaces; how it showed them their fragility and how they used it to remind themselves never to follow the dark path of revenge. Of course Dean didn't believe a single word of it but he tried not to let on his apprehensions too much.

Once they had cleared the table and the women began to clean up, Dean snuck into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and examined it for anything that might confirm his doubts.

"Still hungry?" He stood up to find two brothers towering over him.

"Yeah," he answered, "I was just, uh... seeing if you had any beer."

"The sooner you realize that all is good here," one brother threatened, "The sooner you can go." They began to move in closer, cornering Dean.

"Don't you two have a chew toy or something to go play with?" Dean sassed. They snarled but just then Garth entered the room. He smiled at them as if unaware of the menacing stares they were giving Dean.

"Hey, guys," he greeted, "You mind if I grab a second with Dean, here?" The two brothers flashed Dean one last glare before leaving the room. Dean closed the refrigerator door and joined Garth at the sink. "Why are you being so hard on everyone?" asked the young hunter.

"Because there's no way that all of this is what it looks like," answered Dean, "No way."

"Why not?"

"Come on, man. I know you drank the kool-aid, okay? But come on."

"Look, amigo. I know this is all looks nuts, but I found it. Love and a family? Who cares where that comes from?"

"I do."

"I get it. When I first got here, I couldn't let go, either. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. But when it didn't, I had to accept the truth." Dean glared at Garth.

"Well, I got another truth for you," he growled, "We were all left in the dark when you went AWOL. I didn't know whether you were dead or worse. You should have reached out and sent someone a message."

"And said what, Dean?" Garth asked, "That I was a werewolf? I was embarrassed. I thought it best for everyone if I just stayed away. But that doesn't mean that I didn't think about and miss you or Sam or," Garth hesitated as something in Dean's eyes changed, "Or Kevin." His eyebrows drew together as Dean stared out the window.

"They're gone," Dean muttered.

"What?" Dean turned back to Garth.

"Sam and Kevin. They're gone for good," saying it made it even more real. Dean had been trying so hard to convince himself he could find a way to save his brother but as he said those last three words his world came crashing in around him. He struggled to breathe and for a moment he thought he might pass out.

"What happened?" Garth's voice sounded far away.

"When they needed me, I wasn't there," Dean answered, "That's what." Garth nodded. He could tell that wasn't the whole story but he could also tell Dean didn't want to talk about it so he let it hang there.

When Dean finished with Garth, he left the house and drove back to the motel. He meant to go talk to the Sheriff afterwards, but as soon as he stepped into the motel room all his energy drained away. The room felt smaller with only one bed to occupy it. Dean dragged himself inside and fell to his knees beside the bed.

"Cas," he said but he didn't know what else to say. After figuring out who Kevin's killer was, the two of them had worked together to see what they could find on Metatron. A few uneventful days passed and then, after finding out about more angel victims, Cas had disappeared. Dean wondered if it had something to do with the conversation they'd had the day before. Dean had asked Cas to bring Sam back.

"You got your angel mojo back now so why not give it a go."

"You know I can't do that," Cas shook his head.

"Come on, Cas," Dean urged, "You brought me back."

"That was different, Dean," Cas sighed.

"How?"

"This grace it…"

"Isn't yours," Dean finished, "I know, I know. But it can't be that hard, can it?" Dean felt himself grasping at straws. He knew deep down it was no use.

"It will be hard," Cas sounded as if he were trying to explain it to a child, "Not only will I have to revive his soul, which has been separated from his body for a long time now, but I'll have to heal his body, which has decayed almost completely by now." Dean nodded and left the room. The next morning, when he woke up, Cas was gone.

When Dean woke up, he was still on his knees at the side of the bed. The motel windows opened into the night sky. Dean glanced at the clock. 8:00. He got up, packed his bag and dialed Garth on the phone. The answering machine picked up.

"Hey, Garth," Dean said, "Just wanted to let you know I'm skipping town. Everything seems kosher so I'll see you later." He packed up the Impala, hopped in the driver's seat and started back home when some sense of foreboding told him to make his way back to the farm. Maybe it was his hunter's instinct or maybe it was the fact that home felt more unwelcoming than even the small motel room. Whatever the case, Dean drove back to the preacher's home. It seemed eerily quiet and there were lights on in the barn. As Dean crept towards the house, he noticed one of the brothers who had cornered him earlier, prowling around the grounds. Dean slipped off his jacket and flopped it over a fence post, before hiding in some bushes. The brother's head came up as he picked up Dean's scent and he made his way towards Dean's hiding spot. As soon as he came upon the empty jacket, Dean pounced. His hand covered the brother's mouth as he stabbed him with a silver blade. He pulled the blade out and the body fell to the ground with a thump. Dean waited a few minutes for his heart to slow its frightened pounding than crept towards the barn. He put his back to the door as his mind raced with what to do next.

Bang! A gunshot echoed through the barn and as a desperate cry followed Dean rushed into the barn. His gun was aimed at the preachers back when a snarl interrupted him. He was knocked to the ground when the other brother jumped on top of him. His gun flew out of his hand but he quickly recovered. He grabbed his silver blade and stuck it in the boy's heart. He pulled it out and pushed the brother's body off him, then he stood up. The preacher's wife turned, gun in hand and stared at him. For a moment that seemed like hours they stood there, staring at each other, the only sound was the boy's blood dripping from Dean's knife onto the ground. Then, at the same time she pulled the trigger, Dean threw his knife. She cried out as the knife pierced her heart but Dean didn't hear it. All he felt was searing pain. Someone was ripping his shoulder apart. His vision blurred and he felt himself stumble backwards.

"Dean," Garth's voice called from somewhere far away. Dots covered his vision and for a moment Dean wanted to give into them. He wanted to drown in their blackness; to pass out and never wake up. But then the preacher ran in.

"I heard gunshots." He saw Dean wobbling and grabbed him by the arms, "Don't you dare pass out, son," he shook him. Dean nodded and blinked rapidly till his vision cleared. He ran to Garth but stopped as he passed the preacher's wife. He pulled the silver bullet from her neck and examined it.

"Ragnarok," he whispered, "Whose…" He didn't finish his question. He looked up to see the preacher standing over his daughter's body. Then he remembered the gunshot he had heard before he'd charged in here. Slipping the key out of the dead woman's pocket, he unlocked the chains that held Garth to a post and watched as Bess' husband and her father carried her out of the barn.